


sunrise

by courageous_boss



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Adoption, Alternate Universe, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Bullying, Child Abuse, Fluff, Gen, Green Kryptonite, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Kryptonite, Nonverbal Communication, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Selectively Mute Clark Kent, Sign Language, Superpowers, Young Clark Kent, fidget toys, touch sensitivity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 37,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23264149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courageous_boss/pseuds/courageous_boss
Summary: Kal-el of Krypton arrives on Earth twenty years later than intended. Instead of landing on the Kent Farm, his ship is intercepted by the Justice League. Upon discovery of a child in the ship, Batman/Bruce Wayne is tasked with caring for the alien.--“Wait... Why me?” Bruce asked hotly.Wally sniggered.Diana smiled placatingly, “You have to admit, Bruce. Suddenly adopting a child wouldn't compromise your secret identity as it might for ours.”Bruce stared at her, ready to refute. Though, as he thought it over, he couldn't seem to find any counterarguments.Grumbling, he said, “... Fine.”
Relationships: Batfamily Members & Clark Kent, Clark Kent & Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent & Lex Luthor, Justice League & Clark Kent, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth & Duke Thomas & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne
Comments: 112
Kudos: 336





	1. CRASH! - Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> not sure when updates will be but i'm hoping to update regularly. this fic is going to be lighthearted and fun.
> 
> this fic is meant to be read chapter after chapter, but is split into sections. i'll list them here and link to the first chapter of each section. feel free to ignore this and just read the chapters in order, though.
> 
> Arc | Summary  
> ---|---  
> [CRASH! (chapter 1 to 8)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23264149/chapters/55710589) | the justice league rescues a stray spaceship and find an alien baby.  
> [SCORE! (chapter 9 to 16)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23264149/chapters/58391053) | in an attempt to help clark make new friends, bruce signs clark up for football. clark meets lex and a friendship is born.  
> [SUPER! (chapter 17 to ?)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23264149/chapters/62856055) | clark's powers start developing. he meets the kents and the spaceship is revisited.  
>   
>   
> check the [end of chapter notes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23264149#work_endnotes) for a breakdown of character ages for each arc

The sirens were blaring, the alarm lights were flashing and Green Lantern was running around the room in panic. However, Batman remained stoic, attention fixed on the Watchtower camera feed.

“It's a ship,” Wonder Woman said, standing tall and strong besides Batman.

“Hmm,” Batman studied the shape currently hurtling towards Earth.

The predicted trajectory had it landing somewhere in Kansas. Usually, Batman would have instructed Watchtower to obliterate any unknown entities entering Earth's atmosphere. However, the sensors were picking up a lifeform.

Wonder Woman turned to face Batman, voice low and serious, “What do you think we should do?”

Batman paused. The last time the League had been lenient with extraterrestrials, millions of innocent civilians had been killed. He wasn't sure if they should take a risk like that again. However, the ship had yet to send any hostile signals and if there truly was life within, it was only fair to allow them a chance to explain.

“I'll intercept it. Get everyone in the meeting room,” Batman said, fingers clicking on the huge, complicated keyboard.

Wonder Woman nodded and turned to leave.

Before she could though, Batman added in an aggravated voice, “And for the love of God, get that fool out of here before his head falls off.”

Wonder Woman watched the overpanicked Green Lantern with a fond smile before flying over, scooping him up and flying him out of the room. As they left, Batman's shoulders relaxed and he continued his task with his full attention.

* * *

The League gathered at the reinforced window, watching as Wonder Woman approached the dormant ship. Batman had successfully intercepted the small vessel, landing it on a pad in the Watchtower. Wonder Woman seemed best fit to approach the ship, so only she entered the holding room, sealing herself inside.

The ship was strangely primitive, even for Earth's standards -- which Batman had begrudgingly learned were lightyears behind most of the Galaxy. It was brown and weathered, which made it easily mistakable for a stray asteroid. Its outside was crusted in shimmering rocks of several colours, mostly green with grey, blue, pink, gold and red sprinkled on.

Wonder Woman approached slowly, wary of attack despite complete silence from the ship for nearly two hours.

“Hello, visitor. My name is Wonder Woman.”

Nothing. The ship didn't even twitch. Batman was beginning to suspect the detected lifeform might be a plant.

Wonder Woman moved closer to the ship, reaching out to touch the outside. As her fingers skimmed the surface, a bright, blue light radiated from the ship. She stepped back and the entire League watched as the ship split down the middle. It wobbled vigorously, streams of light shooting out. The top lifted up, hovering in the air as the bright light dimmed, revealing the contents of the ship.

Wonder Woman gasped, “It's a child.”

She leaned forward, eyes softening as she saw the small child's sleeping form. He seemed to closely resemble a human male, with dark, mussed hair and smooth, pale skin. The child's face, previously relaxed and calm, suddenly scrunched. His little nose twitched a bit and then the brightest, blue eyes were blinking open.

“Hello, little one,” Wonder Woman cooed.

The League watched with bated breath as the child shifted, face small and soft. Blue eyes flitted about before landing on Wonder Woman. Then, the child was smiling and pitching forward towards her, pulling a bright, red blanket.

Wonder Woman took the child into her hands, holding him gingerly. The child couldn't be older than five years old and his body looked absolutely tiny against Wonder Woman's chest. He curled up in Wonder Woman's arms, cuddled his blanket and fell back asleep.

Wonder Woman looked up, eyes bright and reverent.

Batman's chest ran cold. Oh no.

“He's so cute,” Wonder Woman whispered.

Behind him, Flash was looking just as enamoured, “Can we keep him, Batman?”

Batman turned briskly, wincing internally as the rest of the league blinked at him, all looking ready to riot if he refused.

“Please? Please, Batman,” Flash begged.

Batman met Aquaman's gaze. He was the only one he thought might see reason. The League couldn't just adopt every alien baby to land on their doorstep. However, Aquaman just shrugged.

Green Lantern smirked, “We promise we'll feed it and bathe it and play with it.”

It was obvious he was only taking the approach he hoped would annoy Batman the most.

“Flash, we can't--” Batman started to say.

However, his voice was interrupted by the hiss of a door as Wonder Woman left the observation room.

Her voice left no room for argument as she said, “Of course we're keeping him.”

Batman watched in defeat as Flash whooped and skimmed around the room in excitement. Green Lantern just seemed entertained. Batman looked to Aquaman for support, but he shrugged again.

“What's the worst that could happen?” Aquaman mused, nonchalant.

Batman frowned. _A lot_ , he thought, but he was the only one who seemed to be thinking rationally. So, he let the argument go and followed Wonder Woman.

She led them to the most secure meeting room, sitting at the head of the table with the alien child cradled on her lap. As the child slumbered on, the League watched with heart eyes.

“Wonder Woman, we must know if we can trust this alien,” Batman said, hoping she would understand what he was trying to say.

She frowned, “He’s a child, Batman.”

“That may not be true. The alien may just be small,” Batman argued.

Wonder Woman’s eyes flashed in annoyance. Batman took a step back. It was unlikely that the alien wasn’t a child. His physiology seemed identical to a human’s so far, with only his strangely, vibrant blue eyes seeming unusual.

Still, it was never smart to assume, so Batman suggested, “Use your Lasso.”

Wonder Woman frowned. She was strongly against using the Lasso on children, but if it was truly the only way to get Batman to relax, she supposed she didn’t have much of a choice.

“Will this appease you?” She asked.

“Hmm,” Batman said, which was basically _‘yes’_.

She gently nudged the child awake, hushing him when his face scrunched in annoyance at being woken. She produced her Lasso.

“This is a Lasso of Truth,” she explained, “it will compel you to answer my questions truthfully. Do not try to deceive me.”

The child blinked at her, no comprehension in his eyes.

“Bats, I don’t think he understands English,” Flash said, zooming about in concern.

“We should at least try,” Batman snapped, ignoring how the alien curled into himself.

“If the child cannot understand, it makes no sense to use the Lasso,” Aquaman mused, reaching out slowly to the child.

The alien shrunk away at first but when it was clear that Aquaman meant him no harm, he went easily into his arms. Aquaman held him securely, tucking his blanket over his shoulders. The child relaxed against him, blinking around the room curiously.

“I have an idea,” Green Lantern announced.

Batman heaved a heavy sigh and collapsed into a chair. Wonder Woman kicked his leg in punishment, but he just rolled away from her.

“Oh hush up, Bats,” Green Lantern said.

Using the power from his ring, Green Lantern conjured up a projection of the alien’s ship. The child cooed as he recognized it.

In a strange, throaty language, the child spoke a happy cheer.

The League froze.

“…Wonder Woman?” Batman breathed.

Wonder Woman shook her head, “I’ve never heard that language before.”

“Neither have I,” said Green Lantern.

The alien child picked up on their shock, quieting down and looking infinitely guilty.

“Hey, no,” Aquaman was quick to comfort, “we’re not angry.”

The child didn’t understand him of course, but Aquaman kept talking to him.

“The Watchtower has compiled a database of every language in our galaxy. With Wonder Woman and Green Lantern, we thought that we had been exposed to every language to exist. However, we have never heard of yours, little one,” Aquaman explained.

Though the child didn’t know what Aquaman had said, he smiled peacefully at the man. He shifted around, wrapping his arms around Aquaman’s shoulders in the tightest hug he could manage.

Batman watched the protective way Aquaman was holding him and knew that he’d lost.

The child was here to stay.


	2. CRASH! - Chapter Two

Diana had gotten the alien child's name, pointing to each of them and introducing them to the child. At first, the boy had just stared with wide, wondering eyes. Then, he'd giggled, understanding flashing in his too blue eyes.  
  
In his soft, sweet voice, he'd said, “Kal-el.”  
  
Though the name was obviously of his own language, it was at least pronounceable.  
  
“So, who shall care for the child?” Aquaman asked.  
  
The child in question was tucked in the corner, sealed behind a barricade of toys. He seemed happy enough, inspecting the items before him very, very carefully.  
  
“I suggest B,” Green Lantern said, smirking annoyingly.  
  
“Wait... Why me?” Bruce asked hotly.  
  
Wally sniggered.  
  
Diana smiled placatingly, “You have to admit, Bruce. Suddenly adopting a child wouldn't compromise your secret identity as it might for ours.”  
  
Bruce stared at her, ready to refute. Though, as he thought it over, he couldn't seem to find any counterarguments.  
  
Grumbling, he said, “... Fine.”  
  
“He'll need another name,” Aquaman said, “One for his civilian identity.”  
  
Bruce didn't like the sound of that.  
  
“B should name him,” Wally suggested.  
  
“Why me?” Bruce demanded, feeling attacked.  
  
Already, his mind was racing, planning where he'd have Kal-el stay, how he'd introduce him to his boys, what sort of care an alien baby required.  
  
Wally faced him with a duh look. “He's your kid now. It's only fair you get to name him.”  
  
The child suddenly looked over.  
  
_My kid now._  
  
Bruce didn't fight the small smile that blossomed. The Manor was more than big enough for another child. Damian would probably love having a little brother to boss around. So far, Kal-el seemed easy enough to take care of.  
  
“Clark,” Bruce said, voice soft, “His name is Clark.”  
  
The boy smiled softly, eyes so, so bright. He turned back to his toys, busy with the small figurines.  
  
“That's a great name,” Diana said. 

* * *

Bruce called ahead, letting Alfred know what was happening. He also called Dick, Barbara, Tim and Stephanie. Cassandra was on a retreat and couldn't currently be reached and Jason was ' _somewhere_ '.

Kal-el was endlessly tired, dozing off whenever there was enough comfort and quiet for him to do so. As he slept, he'd curl up into a ball, fingers tightly wound into his red blanket.

Currently, he was strapped into the Batmobile, eyes wide and curious as he looked around. Even as he watched in amazement, Bruce could see his eyes growing heavier.

“Kal-el?” Bruce asked softly.

Kal-el turned to stare at him. While it was clear he didn't understand English, he did react to his name, which Bruce supposed was a small mercy.

“Do you like the Batmobile?” Bruce asked, keeping his voice gentle and happy.

It would take a while to teach him English, but Kal-el had so far been understanding of intonations and gestures. Bruce wasn't exactly thrilled about having Kal-el in his care, but he wasn't going to isolate or ignore him either.

Kal-el smiled, eyes twinkling. He hummed under his breath happily, sounding like a bird cooing.

Bruce chuckled, “Are you happy?”

Kal-el cooed again, speaking softly in his language. He too kept his tone happy and calm, sounding very much like a human child.

Bruce kept up conversation with him, eventually coercing him to fiddle with the controls. He'd disabled the buttons in that area, but he'd guessed that Kal-el would be entertained by the lights. He was right. As Kal-el got his hands on the controls, his attention was completely focused on pushing buttons and watching different lights and colours flash before him. Bruce watched in amusement-- it seemed alien children were entertained just as easily as human ones.

* * *

Arriving in the Batcave, Bruce spotted Dick and Damian sitting idly at the computers. Alfred was at the med bay, tinkering with the full-body scanner.

Before letting him out, Bruce spoke seriously to Kal-el, “These people are safe. They will take care of you.”

Kal-el blinked at him but didn't seem alarmed, so Bruce supposed this would have to do.

He helped Kal-el out of the car. As his feet touched the cave floors, Kal-el suddenly reached up, grabbing Bruce's hand tightly. He leaned against Bruce's leg, blanket pulled securely to his chest.

Bruce didn't rush him to move, instead looking towards his sons. They were staring, detective eyes critiquing the interaction. Bruce beckoned them forward, squeezing Kal-el's hand comfortingly.

“Kal-el these are my children,” Bruce introduced.

Dick smiled and waved, “I'm Dick.”

“Damian,” Damian introduced shortly, though his face and tone was void of any hostility.

Kal-el was predictably uncomprehending. He leaned against Bruce more, fingers trying and failing to grip onto the Batsuit.

Dick made a small sound of pity, “Aww. We're not scary, little guy.”

“Would you hold him?” Bruce asked Dick.

Kal-el would only understand tactile language.

Dick nodded easily, so Bruce offered his arms to Kal-el, holding him briefly against his chest as Wonder Woman had done earlier. Then, once Kal-el remained calm, he leaned towards Dick, humming in approval. Dick, in turn, held his hands open.

Kal-el stared at Bruce, gaze calculating. Bruce smiled at him, making another approving sound.

After a moment, Kal-el went into Dick's arms, face relaxing now that he was against a comfortable surface and no longer on the ground.

“What's his name?” Damian asked, frowning lightly.

“His birth name is Kal-el. For us, his name will be Clark,” Bruce said.

Damian nodded seriously, “That is acceptable.”

There was no doubt in Bruce's mind that if he hadn't approved, his son would have poured through baby name books until he'd found one that he liked.

Fighting a smile (and failing), Bruce said, “That's good to hear.”

“Um, B,” Dick spoke up suddenly, “He's falling asleep.”

Sure enough, Clark was using Dick's shoulder as a pillow, eyes fluttering closed.

“He has been sleeping a lot,” Bruce reassured, unclipping his cape. “Let him rest. I'll go shower and then we'll get him in the scanner.”

* * *

After his shower, Bruce found the boys in the med bay. Dick was stretched out on a cot, Clark tucked against his side and sleeping peacefully. Damian was sitting on the adjacent cot, speaking in whispers with Dick.

Damian’s gaze flickered up, “Father.”

“Son,” Bruce returned, sitting beside him.

Damian didn’t shift closer. Bruce didn’t take offence – Damian was probably just trying to save face in front of Dick.

“So, what’s the game plan?” Dick asked lightly.

Bruce's eyes lingered on the young boy he’d taken into his charge. He didn’t know what the League was thinking. He was old and tired – he didn’t have the energy to chase after another child. If he thought about it for too long, a strong boil of fear bubbled in his chest. So, he swallowed a heaving sigh and instead offered his children some comfort.

“Well, Alfred’s going to get him in the body scanner. We need to see how different his anatomy is from us. I asked Alfred to get him some pyjamas so once we’re done, we’ll take him upstairs and get him to bed,” Bruce said.

“And how are we supposed to speak to him?” Damian asked, eyebrows crinkling.

“I think he’s capable of learning to understand English. He knows his name is Kal-el and he responds to it. We’ll work with him as we did with Cass,” Bruce mused, lips ticking up in a smile as he remembered the hassle they’d faced with getting his daughter acclimated to living with them.

“I have a feeling this fella’s going to give us a much easier time,” Dick chuckled.

Damian frowned on, deep in concentration.

“What’s going on in here?” Bruce asked, tapping his son’s forehead lightly.

“I’m thinking that maybe some picture cards might help him communicate,” Damian answered.

“Pictures do speak a thousand words,” Dick supposed.

Damian nodded, sitting up ramrod straight, “I’ll get to work right away then.”

Bruce nodded at his son, overcome with fondness for all of his little quirks, “We’ll see you upstairs then.”

Turning to Dick, Damian asked, “Will you be joining me?”

Dick thought it over for a moment. While his eyes were fixed on Clark, Bruce saw Damian’s shoulders droop briefly. Though, as Dick agreed to go with Damian, he perked up again.

“Bruce? You have everything under control?” Dick asked, gently easing Clark away from him.

“Yes, yes, go on. We shouldn’t be too long,” Bruce said.

As the boys quietly made their war upstairs, Bruce moved to sit on the cot with Clark. The boy was still sleeping, undisturbed by their conversation and movements. Bruce theorized that he must have been sleeping in the ship. Or maybe, his landing had taken a lot of energy out of him. Whatever the reason, he didn’t seem to be harmed, so Bruce didn’t disturb him. He did, however, thread his fingers gently through his soft, curly hair.

As he sat, watching his newest addition, Alfred approached.

“Please say this is the last one, Master Bruce,” he said gravely, yet his face was soft and amused.

Bruce chuffed, looking at the older man.

“No promises,” he joked, eyes twinkling.


	3. CRASH! - Chapter Three

Clark seemed to trust Bruce unquestioningly, easily laying still for the full-body scan. Alfred talked to him through it all, a seasoned pro now after his years working to soothe young children through medical tests. Clark warmed up to him quickly, humming and murmuring in his language.  
  
Once the scan was finished, Bruce helped Clark into some pyjamas, offering him his blanket back. Clark sat quietly on a cot while Bruce poured over the scanner's images with Alfred. While his insides were very unhuman, Clark looked completely human on the outside. There wasn’t anything concerning revealed on the scan. Bruce couldn't see anything that looked like it might allow him to produce poisons or spikes and nothing seemed broken.  
  
“How old do you think he is?” Bruce asked.  
  
“For a human, I’d guess around four or five years old, sir,” Alfred said. “That's just physically though. I can't make a guess of his mental age.”  
  
Bruce had to agree. Clark's behaviour thus far matched with this hypothetical physical age. This was throwing Bruce off. Maybe Clark was a hybrid. He seemed so very human that Bruce had a hard time believing that he was a complete alien.  
  
“What about shapeshifting?” Bruce asked aloud, though the question was aimed at himself.  
  
“The hair samples would confirm it but I'm not seeing any physical adaptations that would allow it,” Alfred said.  
  
“I agree. I'll take the hair samples to Watchtower tomorrow and have them tested for the metagene,” Bruce said.  
  
“Shall I send these over to Oracle?” Alfred asked, unclipping the scans and sealing them in an envelope.  
  
“Hmm,” Bruce grunted, which meant _not yet_.  
  
At the sound, Clark perked up and looked over as though he'd been beckoned.  
  
Alfred chuckled, “It appears as though the boy thinks all of your humming is a language of its own.”  
  
Proving his point, Clark made his bird coo sound again, lifting his arms like he wanted to be picked up.  
  
Bruce obliged him, though he was self-conscious about how his lower back protested.  
  
“Ready to go upstairs, Clark?” Bruce asked, already heading for the stairs.  
  
Clark just laid his head against Bruce's chest, snuggling against him. He stayed quiet, looking around. He seemed so busy committing everything around him to memory that he wasn't falling asleep again.  
  
The staircase ended in his office – which was ironically never used despite Bruce coming in and out of it all day and night. The lights in the house were low, the rooms only bathed in the soft, yellow lights of the lamps.  
  
Bruce didn't see or hear Dick or Damian hanging around which was for the best. It was almost two in the morning and tomorrow was shaping up to be a very busy day.  
  
“Hungry?” Bruce asked Clark, touching his fingertips to his own mouth.  
  
Clark gently reached out to feel Bruce's lips, frowning when he didn't discover anything of interest.  
  
Bruce chuckled, “Don't frown. I'll get you something to eat.”  
  
He took Clark to the kitchen, holding him as he looked for something safe to eat. He didn't want to risk any drama happening, so he didn't bother trying Clark with meat or milk.  
  
He found some plain rice in the fridge, warming it in the microwave. He sat with Clark at the breakfast bar, grabbing a spoon for himself and a small bowl for Clark.  
  
“Here,” he told the boy, scooping some rice into Clark's bowl.  
  
He took a bit on his spoon and ate it, chewing and swallowing. He rubbed his stomach, hoping Clark was understanding what he was trying to tell him.  
  
Very, very hesitantly, Clark picked up a few grains of rice with his fingers. Instead of eating it, he smushed it, head tilting curiously at the texture.  
  
Bruce let him play with that bit of the food, scooping up a few pieces onto the spoon and holding it to Clark's mouth. Still focused on his play, his mouth instinctively opened, allowing the rice in. Bruce watched in amusement as he chewed and swallowed, lips parting for more food. Bruce fed him a bit more rice until Clark stopped accepting it, frowning grumpily when he'd had enough.  
  
“Alright, alright,” Bruce laughed, “I get it. No need to fuss.”  
  
He grabbed a napkin, wiping down Clark's sticky fingers. As he worked, Clark's breathing slowed, eyes wide and enraptured as though it had finally clicked for him.  
  
 _You're taking care of me_. He was saying as he held still and trusting.  
  
Bruce kept his motions gentle and purposeful.

 _I’m taking care of you._ He was saying as he made sure Clark was fed and clean.

 _You’re okay now_. He was saying as he picked Clark up again, holding him though his muscles were strained after an arduous day’s work.

 _You aren’t alone anymore._ He was saying as he ensured Clark’s blanket was fixed just so, the only item the boy truly owned never out of his reach.  
  
“Are you sleepy?” Bruce asked, already making his way down to the guest room he'd asked Alfred to prepare.  
  
Clark yawned, eyes blinking slowly. He didn't understand nodding yet, but the way he laid his head against Bruce's chest and relaxed was a clear affirmation.  
  
Bruce held him for a little while longer before tucking him into the sheets. His tiny body was dwarfed by pillows and he happily snuggled down into their softness.  
  
“Alright sleepyhead,” Bruce chuckled, “Sleep tight.”  
  
Clark's eyes had already fluttered shut, breath coming in short, deep huffs as his eyelashes brushed against his rosy cheeks. He was safe and happy – Bruce's job now was the ensure he remained that way.  
  
Bruce made his way to his own bedroom – which was just down the hall and strategically within hearing distance in case Clark called for him during the night. As he laid in his own bed, his mind was racing with all the plans he had for tomorrow.  
  
Of course, there was some more experimenting with Clark's diet, getting him adjusted and whatever Damian was planning with the picture cards.

More importantly, though, Bruce needed to track down his children.

Clark had reminded him of how small and precious they'd been once. Bruce could still remember the way their eyes had tracked him as he'd done his best to make them feel safe and comfortable and loved. These children who had only ended up with him because their own parents could not or would not care for them themselves. These children who Bruce would gladly trade his soul away just to see them smile – not that any of them had demanded, or even expected, that of him.

And even if most of them had grown old enough to refuse blatant affection from their father – Bruce wanted a hug.


	4. CRASH! - Chapter Four

Dick was awoken by knobby, teenaged elbows jabbing into his stomach. Beneath his eyelids, he rolled his eyes, waited for the movements to settle and then stretched.

Peeking one eye open, Dick said through a yawn, “Morning, Damian.”

Lips stuck in his ever-present pout, Damian said primly, “Good morning, Grayson.”

Dick shifted, purposefully jostling Damian a bit. Damian was thrown back onto the pillows, spluttering and looking rumpled when he righted himself again. Finally, he looked like someone who had just rolled out of bed.

“What’s up?” Dick asked.

Damian frowned, “You mean besides the fact that Father brought home an alien last night?”

Dick snorted. He’d been busy recently, which was Batcode for ‘away from the Manor’. It was nice to know that Damian had retained his dry frankness.

In the early days, when Damian was still under a lot of pressure and receiving mixed signals from Talia and Bruce, Damian had stomped around the Manor, carefully concealing any emotion. He’d been so quiet and hesitant that he’d gone hungry for days, too afraid to tell Alfred that he wasn’t comfortable eating meat. These days, though, Damian was much more comfortable with his permanence in both Talia and Bruce's lives, which had allowed him to open up more. He expressed his emotions and hardly ever held his tongue when he had an objection to make. For him to sneak into Dick's room now to complain about Clark was not only unnatural, but it was also worrying.

Putting on a teasing tone, Dick nudged Damian, “Are you jealous because he’s cuter than you were?”

Damian’s cheeks flushed, “Quiet, Grayson.”

He stewed for a few seconds, cheeks growing redder and redder.

Then, he looked up suddenly, “He’s not though! I was a very adorable child.”

He was teasing, shoulders relaxed and lips smirking.

So, Dick retaliated, pinching his cheeks and cooing obnoxiously. “Aww, of course you were. B showed me some of your baby pictures. You had the chubbiest cheeks ever.”

Damian swatted him away huffily, “I’m warning you, Grayson. Unhand me.”

Dick chanced a quick ruffle of his hair before easing up, pleased to see Damian looking less stressed.

“B’s not replacing you, you know,” Dick said softly.

Damian’s breath was silent. His eyes were trained on the blanket, jaw popping as he clenched.

“Even if Bruce takes him in, Clark’s a different kid. You’ll always be our Damian. If Bruce takes in one kid, or a hundred kids, or none, you’re irreplaceable to us. You know that, right?”

Damian shrugged, face dark. “I guess I feel… I don’t know…”

“Scared?”

Damian nodded.

It was hard to put into words. As the first, Dick supposed he was the most experienced at dealing with Bruce suddenly adding a new child to their family. As he’d grown older and more mature, he’d learned how to deal with it and process his feeling more responsibly, but it always stung. There was always a niggling feeling of _I wasn’t enough and now Bruce's got a new kid and he’s going to forget about me_.

“Hey, kiddo?” Dick said gently, waiting for Damian to look up. “Bruce isn’t going to forget about you. I promise.”

If nothing else, Bruce had proved time and time again that his love was limitless. He’d opened his heart up so many times now, to so many needy children that Dick had a hard time doubting his capabilities. If there was anyone who could find enough affection in themselves to shower an alien child with love – it would be Bruce.

Damian however, looked unsure and insecure. It wasn’t that long ago that he’d sat in his room, starved for attention while his Father had been down the hall, completely unaware. A new child, especially an alien one, would surely monopolize his time.

Dick slung an arm over Damian’s shoulders, tugging him in, “You have my number. Call me if you need and I’ll come running. Bruce is going to be busy with Clark, but you’re his son too, Damian. Just like he makes time for me, Jason, Tim, Cass and Steph as well as you, he’ll make time for Clark.”

Damian shuddered. “I know. I’m being irrational. I know father cares for me. But I can't help feeling like this.”

Dick squeezed him, “You’re not being irrational. It’s normal and expected to feel hesitant. Things are going to change. However, I know Bruce knows how to sort out his priorities. And, if he’s not, you always have me. In the meantime, I suggest you look on the bright side.”

“The bright side?” Damian echoed.

Dick nodded, smiling cheekily, “You’re finally no longer the youngest. You get to boss Clark around. It’s the rule.”

Bruce woke to the ringing of his alarm. After a lifetime of running on hardly any sleep, it was easy to pull himself from bed, ignoring the aching behind his eyes and the trembling of his tired muscles.

He slipped on the soft, warm bedroom slippers Alfred insisted on keeping at his door and bundled himself in a robe. Stepping out of his room, he could hear Damian’s laughter – sharp and startled the way only Dick could achieve – floating down the hallways. It was a welcome sound, so he stood for a moment, just listening.

Then, he made the few paces needed to get to the most recently occupied room in the Manor. He’d made a point to leave the door ajar last night and it didn’t look to have been disturbed. Bruce knocked lightly before pushing the door open and entering.

Clark was bundled in the bed, head buried under his red blanket. He’d shifted around in his sleep, moving up so his entire body was curled on the pillows. With the noise Bruce had made, his eyes fluttered open. He huffed softly when he saw Bruce but made no attempt to get up.

“Good morning, Clark,” Bruce said.

Clark smiled crookedly, half of his face squished against the bed. He squirmed around, untangling himself from the blankets. Then, he raised a hand up, making a grabbing motion in what seemed to be the universal sign for a child asking to be carried.

Bruce didn’t want Clark to get confused, though. He had no idea what the child had been through and too much physical contact – especially affectionate contact – too early could jeopardize their relationship. Instead of picking him up, Bruce sat on the edge of the bed and coaxed Clark to sit up. Clark pouted a bit when he realized his request was being denied, but in a very childish way, his frustration was short-lived, and curiosity quickly took over.

Bruce did their sign _hungry_ , touching his fingers to his lips, miming chewing and then touching his stomach. Clark perked up, triumphant recognition flashing in his eyes. He mimicked Bruce, signing _hungry_ back to him, smile brilliant. He wiggled around happily and cooed.

Bruce chuckled, reaching out to ruffle Clark’s hair, smiling back just as happily. This first step of communication between them was a major milestone. Clark had a sharp mind and if he kept picking up things as quickly, he’d be able to communicate easily in no time.

Over the years, Bruce had learned that children appreciated physical affection but sometimes found it hard to identify. For some of his children, like Jason, Tim and Cassandra, he’d had to be extra careful about touching and holding them, as their perception of their body and how others interacted with it had been warped and abused. For Dick, though, if Bruce had been too hesitant to hold or cuddle him, he’d get depressed and touch starved. For Damian, he’d appreciated long conversations and confided secrets far more than he’d appreciated hugs and cuddles. Thus far, Clark seemed very tactile. So, Bruce helped him out of bed, got his blanket wrapped securely around his shoulders and offered his hand for the boy to hold.

Clark grabbed on eagerly and neigh automatically. Like he was accustomed to being led around by an adult. His hand was so tiny and gentle that Bruce felt a sudden blossom of protectiveness in his chest. As it happened, he cursed himself for being such a pushover when it came to children.

He led Clark down the hallways, going slowly in hopes that Clark could get more familiar with his environment.

Clark was quiet, looking around with eyes hungry for information. He kept reaching out to touch different surfaces, making soft sounds when he did. He was no longer tired – that much was clear. Instead, his mind seemed wide awake, mapping out his new surroundings and trying to learn as much as possible.

He stumbled to a halt as they approached the kitchen, steps growing slower and halting as he heard voices coming from the room. Bruce, of course, could identify them as Dick, Damian and Alfred. While Clark had met them all last night, it was only natural that he’d still be wary of them.  
  
Bruce let him take his time, slowing down to match Clark’s pace as they stepped past the threshold. Dick and Damian were sitting at the breakfast bar, pausing their conversation to greet Bruce and Clark.

“Good morning, boys,” Bruce said, hoping that his reaction would set Clark at ease.

Clark peered around, his previous confidence slipping away. There was a lull of silence, with Clark trying to figure out how to react to the situation and everyone else trying to give him as much patience as he needed. After a minute, Clark’s shoulders suddenly squared. He looked up at Bruce with questioning eyes, though he didn’t attempt to voice his thoughts.

When Bruce didn’t reply, Clark slipped his hand from his grasp and approached the breakfast bar. It seemed that he remembered how Bruce had fed him there last night. Silently, he climbed onto a chair, sitting patiently. He glanced over at Dick, saw how his hands were folded on the table, and then copied him. It was overwhelmingly adorable.  
  
“Good morning, Clark,” Alfred said, careful to keep his tone clearly gentle and happy. “Are you hungry?”  
  
Damian produced a small stack of hand-drawn, coloured cards. He shuffled the cards around in his hands and picked one with a simple image of a boy eating. He gave it to Dick.  
  
Repeating the question, Dick asked, “Are you hungry?” and showed the card to Clark.  
  
Clark's eyebrows scrunched. He took the card from Dick, turning it over and over in his hands, uncomprehending. He looked over at Bruce and made a cooing sound.  
  
Like before, Bruce touched his mouth, mimed chewing and swallowing and then rubbed his stomach.  
  
He too repeated the question, “Are you hungry?”  
  
This time, Clark hummed an affirming sound, nearly chirping with excitement. Alfred gave him a bowl with some dry Cheerios and showed him how to eat it. Clark followed his example easily, clutching Damian's card in one hand and eating the cereal bit by bit with the other.  
  
While he ate, Alfred prepared breakfast for the rest of them and Bruce spoke to his sons.  
  
“I'm taking Clark to Watchtower,” Bruce said.  
  
Clark looked up -- blue eyes blinking expectantly. Bruce smiled at him.

“Yes, that’s your name, kiddo. Good job,” Dick ruffled Clark's hair, offered him another Cheerio and Clark went back to his meal.  
  
“Can I come, Father?” Damian asked.  
  
“Well, actually, I was hoping you'd go to the mall with Dick. Clark needs some things for his room. Stickers, toys, books. I really liked your idea with the cards. I'm thinking you'd be good for this too,” Bruce said.  
  
In all honesty, Damian was very nurturing and empathetic. Bruce didn't know how much of that was in his nature and how much was due to Dick's diligent coaching when Damian had first come to live with them.

Bruce was hoping that if Damian picked items specifically with Clark in mind, it would help Clark feel more included and permanent.  
  
Damian nodded seriously, sitting up straighter. Already, he was completely on task, running through his options and planning.  
  
“At Watchtower, we'll run some allergy tests and check out his ship,” Bruce said.  
  
“And I'm sure the League is itching to see him again,” Dick teased, smirking. “Wally sent me a full essay about how excited the League was about adopting him.”  
  
Bruce pointedly ignored him. He wasn’t looking forward to putting up with their antics again.

“Please pass the news on to Jason. And tell him if he wants to visit, don't bring food or clothes,” Bruce instructed.  
  
“Sure thing,” Dick said. “By the way, Tim left a message. He's still busy with his team. He said that he'll try to come by this weekend.”  
  
It was probably for the best. Bruce didn't want to overwhelm Clark with too many new people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i won't write talia as an abusive or absent mother in this story. her part is very, very minimal, but for context, she and bruce share custody and damian loves both his parents and has a strong relationship with each of them


	5. CRASH! - Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter (and the next) is going to focus on communication. while bruce is pushing for clark to learn to sign, there isn't going to be much more signing in this story. clark finds that he needs actions more grounded in his experience of reality (which is where his miming comes in).

After breakfast, Damian sat in the sitting room with Clark, showing him all the picture cards. He'd hand-drawn the pictures, writing the words clearly in English on the bottom and back of each card. In total, he had about ten, with basic emotions and activities. They could expand later, but it was important that Clark could at least tell them how he was feeling and what he needed. He also gave Clark a notepad and a pack of a few coloured crayons, showing him how to draw pictures of his own.

Perhaps the most important thing Damian did, though, was run through the signs of each of the words. Clark didn’t seem to understand what Damian was doing, but if they kept working with him, Bruce knew he’d pick it up.

Once they had finished, Clark struggled to collect all the new things Damian had given him. However, there were simply too many things for his small hands to hold. Alfred watched them pensively for a moment before going off with agency in his steps. He returned a short while later with something made of brown cloth in his hands. Careful to portray his intentions in his movement, he knelt down, knees creaking with his age. He unfolded the cloth, revealing it to be a simple FannyPack.

“This should help you,” he said, clipping the strap around Clark’s waist and placing once of the cards inside.

Clark poked it, then tugged it. When nothing more interesting happened, he followed Alfred’s example and added another card inside. His eyes widened in wonder.

Just seeing him interacting with everything for the first time, full of curiosity and excitement, felt like a blessing for Bruce. He watched as Clark added the rest of the cards one by one, fingers careful and awkward. Finally, when Clark had all his new belongings in the FannyPack, Alfred showed him how to zip it closed, opening it and rezipping it a few times until Clark was able to do it on his own.

Clark spoke in his own language, and though Alfred couldn’t understand the words, the gratitude and enthusiasm in his tone couldn’t be missed. 

“You’re welcome,” Alfred said, smiling a crinkled smile and touching the tips of his fingers to his chin and sweeping up and away a bit, demonstrating the sign as he spoke.

Hands free to do as he pleased, Clark copied the sign, said something in a happy tone and then wiggled his hips in a little dance.

Alfred laughed, turning to Bruce. In his eyes, Bruce could see the shine of joy brought on by witnessing innocent happiness and Bruce felt any fear and doubt about taking Clark in melt away.

* * *

After seeing Dick and Damian off, Bruce took Clark back down into the cave. He set him down on the training mats, ensuring that he couldn’t get out of the area without exerting a lot of effort. Then, he got dressed in his Batman suit. He waited until he was back in front of Clark to put on the cowl so that the boy wouldn’t be startled or confused.

When Clark noticed the dark, heavy cape on the Batman suit, his eyes lit up and he squealed, asking Bruce for something eagerly. The more the tried to speak using his native tongue, the more painfully Bruce's chest twinged.

He remembered being young and isolated, screaming for the world to notice the pain he was in – using a language of actions and silence, never finding words strong enough to hold his heavy grief. He remembered too, more recently, Dick Grayson sitting across the table at the Youth Centre, valiantly trying to string together the little English he knew, begging the only adult who would listen for help. He remembered Cassandra, flinching at any noise directed at her and methodically turning over syllables in her mouth, trying to find a way to hold them comfortably. It was difficult now, to hear Clark reaching out to him and being unable to meet him on his own terms.

For the moment, Bruce tucked his pain away, kneeling to access Clark easier. When he was closer, Clark brightened, grabbing up his red blanket and shoving it into Bruce's hands. He stepped back, waiting patiently.

“I don’t understand,” Bruce said honestly.

He made a confused expression and flipped his palms outwards, asking, “What?”

Eyes more focused on his face than his sign, Clark seemed to understand that Bruce needed more explaining. Gently, he took the blanket back and wrapped it over his shoulders like a cape. Smiling, he jumped around a bit, so the cloth swished behind him. Then, he paused, made a frowny face and released the blanket. It dropped to the floor, pooling at his ankles. Clark watched it, made a sad, whining sound and then looked to Bruce again.

For a moment, Bruce could only be amazed at how comprehensive Clark’s actions were. Then, he caught the slowly falling smile on Clark’s face and set to work. He kept a few safety pins in his utility belt, so he quickly grabbed one. He pulled the blanket back up and around Clark’s shoulders, pinning it in place. Clark stood still and steady, beaming as Bruce ensured the pin wouldn’t prick him if he romped about.

When he was done, Bruce leaned back, pinching his fingers together and brushing his fingertips, in the sign for ‘fix’.

“Fixed,” he told Clark, hoping his tone was sufficiently preppy.

Like he’d done with Alfred, Clark copied the sign and then bounced around, giggling happily as the blanket moved behind him. He was an easy child to please, a fact which was amusing as he anticipated how much effort the League would surely put into spoiling him.

After a short contemplation over whether to use the zeta tube or the boom tube, Bruce got Clark into the zeta tube’s landing pod and entered the coordinates for Watchtower. While Batman preferred the flair of the boom tube, the zeta tube was an easier ride and would probably be easier for a child to handle, albeit an alien child who’d entered their world in a spaceship.

As their bodies fizzled back together on the other side of the landing pod, Clark seemed unfazed, steps a bit wobbly as he ventured out and away, but quickly regaining his strength. As Clark turned the first corner to enter the hallways, Bruce heard a delighted squeal and then the pounding of heavy footsteps.

“Oh my! We’ve missed you, little Kal-el,” Diana’s strong voice echoed around, full of wonder.

Clark didn’t shy away from her excitement, babbling in his language to her and moving closer to her reach.

Then, in an action that froze the breath in Bruce's lungs, Diana responded in Clark’s language.

Clark, too, froze, blinking uncomprehendingly at her. He turned back to look at Bruce, face scrunched.

Bruce was thrilled. For Diana to be enunciating so clearly, she must have spent a good amount of time carefully practising how to form the syllables. For Clark to have someone to converse with, in the language he was most comfortable with, was an invaluable gift – one that Bruce himself would never be able to give to Clark himself. Even someone with less deductive skills than himself could recognize that the way Diana had spoken, in a deep throaty way, couldn’t be achieved with a human throat. Sure, there was a small, cool weight in Bruce's chest that yearned to have the same ability. But, working with a team of superpowered people had taught him how to confront and accept that feeling quickly.

However, Clark seemed unable to process it. To Bruce, it appeared as though he’d already accepted that he’d never have anyone else speak his language with him. It was a heartbreaking thought, but also a very educated one. Had someone told Clark that? Had his parents bundled him up in a spaceship, kissed him goodbye and said good riddance? Did his parents make him say goodbye not only to them, but, also his culture? What did Clark expect from Earth? What did he expect from the League?

Bruce preferred not to burden Clark with such questions. Instead, he knelt to the ground and beckoned Clark closer to him. Diana stayed put, which allowed Clark to relax a little, no longer looking spooked, just startled.

Bruce got Clark to focus on his hands, formed them into fists and then pulled them apart, saying, “Safe. Diana is safe.”

Clark didn’t try to copy the sign, just stared uncomprehendingly and overwhelmed. He didn’t try to speak, eyes wide and searching for something Bruce didn’t know. The longer the silence drew on, the more Clark began to fret, scuffing his feet on the floor like if he kicked hard enough, he’d be able to fly far, far away from the situation.

From way down the hallway, where Diana still remained hovering slightly off the ground, she asked Bruce, “Are you teaching him to sign?”

Bruce nodded, keeping his eyes on Clark, not wanting the boy to think they were talking over his head. He was more aware than ever that Clark knew more that he’d assumed and deserved to be treated with revere and respect.

“Yes. He’s tried miming as well. He seems comfortable with it and he’s done a good job so far,” Bruce told her, keeping his voice approving.

As he hoped, Clark picked up on his tone and relaxed a bit more. As he did, Bruce saw him clenching and unclenching his fists and pressing his closed fists against his thighs.

“That’s good. I’m happy,” Diana said.

While her words were honest, Bruce could see the pain and regret in his eyes that she had startled Clark so badly. There was no use agonizing about it, though, not when Clark was doing well with self-soothing and was nearly recovered. He and Diana gave Clark a few more minutes to calm down. Finally, Clark was smiling again, faint and cautious, but still openly enough for Diana to enjoy.

“Show Diana your cape,” Bruce suggested, reaching out to discreetly check that the red blanket was still properly fastened.

Clark didn’t try to speak with Diana again, but he did swivel around, showing off how his cape swooped behind him. Diana didn’t have a cape, but she swivelled too, her thick, brown hair following gracefully much like a cape would. Clark was delighted, cooing happily and dancing around.

Mission accomplished, then. Clark was happy and safe. Bruce stood, drawing Clark and Diana’s attention.

“We should get started. We have a lot to do today,” Bruce said gruffly.

Diana pursed her lips, “Kal-el just got here. Why can't we spend some time with him first?”

In all honesty, there really wasn’t much rush. The only pressing matter was the allergy tests, which could be set up quickly and the results could be collected before they returned to Gotham. Bruce was just hesitant to expose Clark to the rest of the League. No one at the Manor had caused him so much discomfort, yet Diana, arguably the member most fit for interacting with children, had caused such a panic.

Clark was still jumping around with his cape, though he looked to Diana when he heard his name. He didn’t move closer to her, but he was interested in what she had to say.

Before Bruce could set any plan into action, there was a sudden, rushing breeze down the hallway. Between one blink and the next, Clark disappeared from sight, his joyous laughter echoing in his wake.

Diana had the nerve to smirk at Bruce, “He’s just a child, Bruce. Lighten up.”

Bruce choked, “Lighten up?”

Diana paid him no attention, turning to follow wherever Flash had zipped Clark off too. Reluctantly, Bruce trailed behind her, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> while i personally don't use sign language in my daily life, nor do i know anyone who does, i have worked with children who have difficulty communicating. these experiences are what i'm basing clark off in this story. i don't mean to offend anyone, so please reach out to me if anything i've written comes off as offensive or even inaccurate. 
> 
> my source for the signs are taken from [this website](https://www.babysignlanguage.com/dictionary/?v=df1f3edb9115), which i really like


	6. CRASH! - Chapter Six

As Bruce watched Flash with Clark, he naturally gravitated towards standing in the furthest, gloomiest corner.

Flash had a certain natural charisma when dealing with Clark. In seconds, he had Clark feeling comfortable, engaging him in play. He zipped around the room, fast enough to leave a noticeable blur in his trail, but slow enough that Clark thought he could chase after him. Clark ran after him with noticeable determination and it was probably the most childish thing Bruce had seen him do yet.  
  
Of course, Green Lantern was there, egging them on. He was hovering near the ceiling, never getting too close to the pair. Clark didn't pay him any attention and Bruce wouldn't be surprised if the child was yet to notice him.  
  
“Batman,” Aquaman greeted, suddenly approaching Bruce from the left.  
  
Bruce hated when he did that. It made his hackles rise.  
  
“Aquaman,” Bruce nodded in greeting.  
  
Wonder Woman came to stand on Bruce's other side, effectively barring him from interrupting the play. It was unnecessary but Bruce supposed they had good reason to assume he’d want to interrupt the fun.  
  
“Bruce, I’m sorry to have upset Kal-el so much,” Wonder Woman said gravely.

Yes, that. Even as Bruce watched Clark play, his mind was replaying the scene that had just gone down with Diana. It had been unexpected, and Clark’s reaction was unfortunate. However, the marvel of Diana speaking Clark’s language was not lost on Bruce. Though the thought pained him, Bruce wondered if Clark would be better off bring raised by Diana. 

“It wasn’t your fault, Diana. And it was valuable to learn that Clark is capable of regulating his emotions,” Bruce said, hoping his words would offer her some comfort.

Arthur leaned in, asking curiously. “What happened?”

Diana hesitated which piqued Bruce's curiosity. Diana was many things (and, by now, he knew she wasn’t perfect) but she was not a woman who lacked confidence. Her actions were always carefully considered and any regret she harboured was on how the other party reacted, not of her own choices.

After a moment, she turned to Bruce, eyes earnest. "Arthur and I practised the boy's language last night."

“Arthur?” Bruce asked, chest smarting. Could this be another case where being the most human member of the team put him at a disadvantage?

“Yes, the same adaptations that make it possible for me to speak underwater also allow me to speak Kal-el’s language,” Arthur said.

"Green Lantern suggested that we not interfere with Kal-el's ship without his permission. Arthur and I pulled the audio from Watchtower's security recordings and practised based on that,” Diana explained.

"What did you say to him anyway?" Bruce asked.  
  
Diana frowned, “When I spoke with Kal-el earlier, I only repeated whatever he had said to me. I don't know why it upset him so much."  
  
Bruce was also confused. If Diana hadn't said anything negative, what had Clark gotten so worked up?  
  
"I don't think Kal-el understood what you were trying to do," Arthur inputted. "For him, it might have seemed like you were echoing him. It could be frightening if he wasn't expecting it and he didn't understand why."  
  
"Maybe," Bruce mused.

Arthur’s gaze was heavy and thoughtful. Bruce pointedly ignored him, still nursing the sting of inferiority. What was the point of money, training and gadgets if he was still so far behind the other members of the League?

A few feet away, Clark was slowing down, finally outpaced by the Fastest Man Alive.

Sensing that their game was over, Flash slowed down, moving into Clark's reach. The boy sprung forward, latching onto him and squealing in victory. Clark said something happily and Flash encouraged him to cheer.  
  
"Whoo! Yay! You got me, kid," Flash said, reciprocating Clark's grip so that he was hugging him.  
  
Clark was beaming, huffing and probably thirsty, but very, very happy.  
  
Flash always kept hydration packs lying around Watchtower, so he took one for himself and gave one to Clark. He showed him how to use it to drink, letting Clark figure it out mostly on his own.

Clark gulped it down, his small chest still heaving when he’d finished. He was flushed and sweaty, beaming from ear to ear. After catching his breath, he approached Bruce gingerly, hopping from leg to leg.

“Hey, B?” Flash said, amused at Bruce's expense. “I think he’s got to pee.”

It was a fair assessment. Clark was dancing about, face twisted in concentration and hands pressed against his belly. Without sparing a second, Bruce herded Clark to the nearest bathroom, pointing to the toilet. Thankfully, Clark seemed immediately understanding, approaching the toilet without hesitation.

Bruce gave him his privacy, then ensured his pants were properly fastened, his blanket was secure, and his hands were washed clean.

He also fished out the picture card Damian had drawn to represent the bathroom, showing it to Clark while properly enunciating the word and signing it. Clark took the card, critiqued it and then slipped it back into his Fannypack. He pulled out the notepad Damian had given him and the red crayon. He stared at Bruce for a moment, eyes searching for a hint that he was doing wrong. When Bruce made no objection, Clark drew a simple doodle of a red, stick figure, with a comically large smile. The sketch was unmistakably Flash.

“You want to play with Flash again?” Bruce asked, stressing Flash’s name.

Clark smiled, perking up. He held his left palm flat and moved his right hand quickly across it, making a _woosh_ sound.

Bruce laughed, chest warm. Even if it was in full Batman gear, crouched outside a bathroom, it was amazing, communicating with Clark like this.

“He’s fast, right?” Bruce said, keeping his voice happy.

Clark did his sign again, making the ‘woosh’ sound more exaggerated. He added a little happy dance after, working up his excitement.

Bruce helped him put his notepad and crayon away, and then led him back to the room. Clark was practically bouncing at his side, walking on his tiptoes and hopping about.

When they entered, Clark ran over to Flash, attaching himself to his side. He started talking to Flash, speech rushed and excited, as though he had a million things to say and no time left to say them. It seemed he had a favourite League member already.

Arthur threw a heavy arm over Bruce's shoulder, jostling him with his super-human strength. Bruce scowled and tried to move away. Arthur loosened his grip a bit, so Bruce decided to stay put. It was good to let his teammates know he trusted them (and Arthur had been complaining that he’d felt cold at Watchtower, so maybe a hug was well-deserved).

“Flash went out and bought Kal-el some clothes,” Arthur warned. “D and GL are bringing them in. Flash went a _bit_ overboard.”

Bruce wasn’t surprised. It was the nature of the League to be extravagant and Bruce wasn't expecting them to skimp on their newly adopted alien son.  
  
Sighing with faux weariness, Bruce said, "Let's get it over with it, then."  
  
Green Lanterned floated in, carrying a huge pile of child-appropriate clothes, toys and books. Diana flew in behind with what was probably her handpicked favourites. They both set everything down and Flash coerced Clark over to investigate.

Bruce stood back with Arthur, not wanting to cause too much of a crowd. Clark didn’t seem to understand that these were things that he now owned, but following Flash’s example, he started picking out items that were most appealing to him.

Flash had a deep sensitivity to textures. The wrong clothes against his skin would put him on edge. For this reason, Bruce had always gotten his approval when purchasing carpets, towels and mats for Watchtower. Even the Flash suit was made of specially-tailored fabric, not just to withstand the wear and tear of super speed, but to allow him to be comfortable when wearing it.

Interestingly, when Clark started looking at the clothes and soft toys, Bruce saw him rubbing his fingertips against the fabrics. Sometimes, he’d frown and put the items aside, sometimes he’d further test their acceptability by rubbing it against his forearm. It was similar to how Flash checked how his skin would react to clothes. If Clark shared this trait with Flash, Bruce would have to be more considerate with his wardrobe.

Soon enough, Clark had made a small pile and had turned his full attention to those items, neglecting the other new things. Seeing that he was finished, Bruce finally approached, sitting beside him while Green Lantern whisked away the abandoned things. They’d most likely keep whatever else Diana deemed essential and donate the rest.

“Do you like this?” Bruce asked, picking up one of the shirts.

It was a red shirt, which Bruce guessed Clark liked because it was similar to the Flash suit. Looking closely, Bruce noticed that most of that Clark picked were varying patterns of bright red and blue. It was a strange choice and Bruce was torn between excusing it as a fashion choice of whatever society he’d come from, and the infallible ability of children to dress outrageously.

Clark smiled at him, so Bruce nodded. Clark copied the nod and then took the shirt back, setting it in the pile again.

“Bruce, before you take him to the Med bay, there is one more thing,” Diana said, sitting cross-legged at Clark’s other side.

She picked up one of Clark’s shirts and the boy looked over at her, smiling and nodding. He didn’t take the shirt away, obviously holding her in higher regard than the Batman. Bruce chuckled softly but didn’t try to touch any more of Clark’s things.

“Hmm?” Bruce hummed.

“Should we let Kal-el see his ship again? It’s been closed and dormant since he landed. Maybe he can open it. We could learn where he’s come from,” she said.

“Or what language he is using,” Bruce added.

Diana nodded. “Yes. We could even learn why he was sent to Earth in the first place.”

“I agree. After lunch, then,” Bruce said.

The scientist part of him wanted to get Clark to his ship immediately, eager for answers. However, the part of him that had been responsible for children knew to never ask a child to cooperate on an empty stomach.

Diana smiled mischievously, like she what Bruce was thinking and was amused.

Instead of teasing him, she said, “There are radioactive readings from the ship so we placed it in quarantine last night. We’ll need to get Kal-el in protective gear before we take him to it.”

Bruce agreed easily, but his mind was turning. Why would the ship be radioactive? Clark had seemed fine yesterday and no one from the League had reacted negatively. For some reason, Bruce had a bad feeling about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe a bit of a filler chapter but i really wanted to get clark bonding with the rest of the League. he'll be interacting with his spaceship in the next chapter (and there'll be some conflict!!)
> 
> also, Flash and Clark are described as being sensitive to certain textures. this is called tactile sensitivity/defensiveness and if you want to read more about here, here are [two](https://kidcompanions.com/tactile-sensitivity-what-it-is-and-the-common-signs/) [sources](https://www.griffinot.com/what-is-tactile-defensiveness/). their experiences will be based on my own. this condition can be a sign of asd, but as i am not (nor anyone i'm close to) diagnosed, i will not be diagnosing any of my characters.


	7. CRASH! - Chapter Seven

After lunch (and coaching a very confused Clark through sitting still for some allergy tests), the League gathered to take Clark to visit his ship.

Best case scenario, Clark would open it to reveal some sort of instruction manual, comprehensible and helpful. Anytime he gave it thought, Bruce's chest ached at the idea of putting one of his children in a pod and sending them far away, damned to a life among strangers. Only absolute desperation could motivate Bruce to even entertain the idea. Surely, a parent who wanted to preserve their child’s life would leave guidance for whoever would care for them next.

Worst case scenario, Clark was some sort of outcast. Somehow, that idea was more painful to entertain. What kind of sick society would shoot a child into space? Clark’s ship had no real trajectory or safeguards, only landing safely out of sheer luck and maybe fate. If Clark’s people had truly deserted him, it was a cruel punishment to dole a child – sentencing him to a planet where he didn’t understand the language and had no trusted peers.

At least, Bruce thought, Clark was with them now. The League would provide for him. They would keep him safe.

Watchtower didn’t have much gear that would fit a child as small as Clark, so Green Lantern conjured up a suit, cloaking him in a protective, green layer. Clark was fascinated and the idea warmed him up to Green Lantern. He took to following the man around, eyes wide with childish wonder.

Green Lantern got on surprisingly well with him, which Bruce supposed he should have guessed since Hal truly was a man-child. He had Clark giggling, using the ring to conjure up all sorts of animations. Clark was interacting easily, pointing and jumping around, words falling from his lips in excitement.

“What is the plan?” Diana asked, ready to critique whatever Bruce proposed.

“Green Lantern will take him into the holding room. We will observe from outside and step in if necessary,” Batman said.

He wanted to keep the room as empty as possible, to avoid any pressure or confusion. Even with the high levels of radiation, Diana could probably accompany them safely. However, Green Lantern seemed competent enough to complete the task alone. It would be risky and unnecessary for Arthur, Wally or himself to suit up to enter to room.

“That seems fair,” Arthur agreed, crossing overly muscular arms across his chest.

He’d been quiet most of the day and distant from Clark. Arthur had grown up being different, always on the outside until he’d learned of his Atlantean heritage. While that revelation had made him more accepted by humans, Bruce knew the Atlanteans were yet to truly embrace him, leaving him once again too strange and too alien to belong. Bruce thought that once Clark was able to communicate better, he and Arthur would find that they had a lot in common. However, until Clark was older, Bruce knew Arthur would just sulk and guard.

Diana furrowed her eyebrows, “Alright. That sounds acceptable.”

Flash agreed easily too, relieved that he wouldn’t have to get into the protective gear. The three of them filed into the room adjacent to the holding bay, lining up to watch through the clear wall.

Diana was brimming with uneasy energy, messing anxiously with her lasso. Bruce understood. It was difficult for him, too, to separate from Clark. In a show of camaraderie, Bruce edged closer to her. She paused her fretting, gaze landing heavy and calculating on the side of Bruce's head. She didn’t question him, only stepped closer to him and redirected her attention to the glass wall.

They watched, lined up like soldiers as Green Lantern guided Clark towards the holding bay.

Green Lantern lagged a bit, too busy playing some game with Clark that had him squealing and laughing. It was a nice sound – his joyful, free laughter – so Bruce didn’t grumble. Soon, the door swooshed open and Green Lantern walked in. Clark was pulled in as well, still enveloped in the protective, green glow from the ring.

Then, as the door sealed shut, chaos erupted.

Clark collapsed. It was like his legs had been pulled out from under him, zapped of any strength and coordination. It was difficult to see from so far away, but the retched, gasping sounds of pain sliced into Bruce's bones. The boy was crying out, wailing and choking on cries and whimpers.

“Kal-el!” Diana cried, storming out to get him.

Bruce could hardly bring himself to move. Watchtower was safe. There was no threat or enemy here. Clark was supposed to be safe, not writhing around on the ground in pain.

Soon, his training kicked in and Bruce raced after Diana with haste. He had to stop to gear up, which slowed him down. His heart was hammering the entire time and his shaking fingers slipped clumsily over the latches. Flash noticed. His body was mostly a blur of red, vibrating uneasily. He paused long enough to fasten Bruce's suit and then zipped off towards Clark’s rescue.

By the time Bruce was in the holding bay, Clark was on the floor, weak and moaning. Diana was fussing, tears of sorrow staining her cheeks. Green Lantern’s concentration was failing him, and the glow of the ring flickered dangerously. He was stuttering and pacing, eyes wide and frazzled.

Jumping into action, Bruce knelt beside Clark, unsure if he should touch him. The veins near Clark’s skin had swollen, pulsing as his blood bubbled. He’d taken on a sickly, green hue, looking pale and sweaty. He was curling in on himself, soft, broken sobs interrupted only by pleas for the attack to relent.

“Is it the radiation?” Bruce asked, zeroing in on the most likely culprit.

“Hal?” Diana snapped, jaw tense with rage.

This was their child in pain and whatever or whoever was responsible would face her wrath.

“No, the ring is still secure,” Green Lantern said, even as he looked ready to kneel over.

“Bruce! Help him!” Diana ordered, face red and eyes bright with fury.

Bruce stuttered over his words, chest tight, “I-I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

He had no idea what was wrong and no contingency plan in place. Very, very hesitantly, he brushed his fingers against Clark’s arm. Even with the light touch, bruises bloomed, discolouring the skin with blue and purple. Diana screamed, ripping Bruce away and shoving him back.

“Don’t touch him!” She roared.

Bruce shook his head, tongue heavy in his mouth. This could only be one thing. Clark couldn’t survive here. This environment was too toxic, too exotic to support his lifeform. They should have found out where he’d come from and flown him home. Instead, they had held onto him, coddling him and keeping him close. They’d been selfish with him and now he was dying.

Distantly, Bruce could feel the buzz of Flash’s energy, disturbing the air as he zoomed about uselessly. Green Lantern was openly crying, deep, short sobs mixing with Clark’s distressed wailing. There was nothing they could do. Clark was growing weaker and weaker, crying like he was being tortured and they had no idea why.

Then, Arthur was stomping in urgently and Bruce only had enough presence of mind to realize that he hadn’t even noticed his absence. Diana was on guard immediately, guarding Clark’s fallen body.

“Don’t touch him,” she warned.

“Look at the ship,” Arthur said.

It was glowing. The green, crystal rocks which had been dull and unassuming were now lit up and florescent.

“I think he’s hypersensitive to the radiation, Diana,” Arthur said, a thousand times calmer and more collected than Bruce felt. “Put this over him. It might help.”

He was holding out a lead blanket. When Diana hesitated, he stepped forward.

“Don’t hurt him,” Diana pleaded.

“Just let me try this,” Arthur snapped, still moving forward. “We can't do nothing.”

It was always a daunting task to oppose Diana. She was so powerful and passionate that she was virtually unstoppable. However, the steel-hard look in Arthur’s eyes said he was prepared to fight.

Flash was racing around the room so quickly now that he’d created a wind. It tossed Diana’s hair and for a moment, she looked like she was on the battlefield, facing down an opponent. Then, she seemed to take stock, remembering that Arthur was not an enemy, but a friend.

“Okay,” she relented, stepping back.

With extreme care and tenderness, Arthur laid the lead blanket over Clark. His body was small enough that he was completely covered. Instantly, his whimpering died down. His breathing was still laboured but he wasn't keening with pain anymore. At the same time, the bright glow of the green rocks vanished, leaving them dull once more.

A stillness hung over the room.

Green Lantern had expanded the ring’s protection to cloak the lead blanket. Flash had stilled, standing stock still, breathing heavily. Diana was hovering near the ceiling, almost fleeing the scene. Arthur was making gentle soothing noises, which Clark only responded to with feeble sobs.

Bruce stood and watched, chest cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the lead blanket is basically what they'd use when taking X-rays. here's a [picture](https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/312Yguiep%2BL._AC_.jpg).


	8. CRASH! - Chapter Eight

Bruce would never grow used to the measured beeping of the heart monitor. It was like a punishment each time, the soundtrack to a vigil over an injured loved one.

“Knock, knock,” Nightwing stood at the doorway, one arm slung over Robin’s shoulder while the other gripped the doorframe.

For a moment, Nightwing’s gaze landed on Clark – pale, sweaty and barely conscious – and his face darkened. Then, he pulled Robin closer against him and methodically relaxed.

“How is he?” Robin asked, voice clipped.

Bruce found himself engulfed in despair. Why was their life plagued with suffering and hurt? The raw concern in his son’s eyes was cutting deep into his core and he felt his breath catch in his throat.

“He’s, um. He’s recovering.” Bruce swallowed. “He was really bad before. His vitals are returning to normal and he’s becoming more lucid.”

Robin squared his chest, “That’s good.”

“What happened?” Nightwing asked.

“We don’t know. It’s something to do with his ship,” Bruce said.

He shivered, remembering.

_(Clark was unmoving under the lead blanket and filling the room with pained, choking sobs._

_Arthur looked towards Bruce, face carefully stoic. Bruce's breath was caught in his throat, pushing past the nausea, and failing._

_“It’s the ship,” Diana sobbed, voice hoarse and whispered._

_The ship laid dormant and unassuming. This ship that had protected Clark, had delivered him safely to him. This ship had attacked him._

_Bruce shook his head. It couldn’t be._

_“Test it,” Batman ordered._

_The red blur of Flash suddenly stopped, landing Wally right in front of Bruce's face. He was livid, hands coming out to shove Bruce._

_“No!” Flash shouted. “Don’t you dare.”_

_“We have to know. If it’s not –”_

_“It’s the ship, god dammit!” Flash was stiff and red-in-the-face._

_God, Bruce just wanted to punch the wall and scream._

_“Diana, Hal,” Arthur spoke up, still crouched near Clark’s trembling form, “Take the ship.”_

_Voice shaking, Green Lantern asked, “Where?”_

_Batman swallowed. Flash's glare was still fixed on him._

_Seething, Flash said, “Doesn’t matter. Just, just get it far away from Kal-el.”)_

Robin pulled away from Nightwing, moving to sit beside his father. Silently, he reached to hold Bruce's hand. Bruce shuddered as he gripped his son’s hand, slim and strong beneath his larger one. He couldn’t get the image of Clark’s suffering out of his head.

“I’m going to go check in with Flash. Are you two alright alone?” Nightwing asked.

His shoulders were tight, and he was fidgeting so much that he looked on the verge of vibrating.

“Yes, sure,” Bruce said.

Robin just held still.

Nightwing nodded, disappearing down the hall with silent footfalls.

Batman and Robin watched over Clark for a bit. His skin was pallid and sweaty – like he’d been running a fever – and still bruised where Bruce had touched him earlier. They hadn’t given him any medicine yet, but he’d settled down to sleep and had been resting for about an hour now. Even as he slept, his eyebrows were crinkled, and he was pouting softly.

Suddenly, he shifted and brilliant blue eyes fluttered open.

Robin was standing up first, moving to frame Clark’s body. Even unconsciously, he was shielding Clark from Bruce.

“Hey, kiddo,” Robin whispered soothingly, “You’re awake.”

Clark blinked at him, frown deepening.

More than anything, Bruce wanted to comfort him. He wanted to say _you’re safe now, you’re okay_ and have Clark actually understand him. Any chance they’d had of setting up communication in a timely manner was currently hurtling through space, far, far away from where Bruce could investigate. The thought had rage simmering in his veins. 

“Hey, no, don’t touch it,” Robin said, gently redirecting Clark’s had as he made to prod at the bruise on his shoulder. “You’re hurt there.”

Clark’s eyes glossed over, and his lips began to tremble. He still looked weak and sickly and Bruce felt his stomach turn.

Slowly as not to startle anyone, Bruce stood. He was still in his Batman suit, mask and all. Clark’s eyes quickly met him, and he immediately turned frantic.

He shuffled to sit up, only succeeding when Robin reached out to aid his shaking muscles. From the back of his throat, he started to make urgent keening sounds, sounding for all the world like a whimpering puppy. His eyes shined with desperation and though no words had been exchanged, Bruce understood exactly what Clark was saying.

And dammit, he was a member for the League. It was his job to soothe crying children. He'd held hundreds of weeping children through tragedies and wiped away their tears.

So why were his muscles freezing when it was _Clark’s_ big, doleful eyes pleading for comfort?

“Batman,” Robin called, voice short but patient.

Bruce snapped into action. He crowded into Clark’s space, sitting on the edge on his bed and opening his arms when Clark pitched forward onto his lap. He moved as Clark moved, giving where Clark was brave enough to ask. The cape draped easily around Clark’s small body, bundling him in warmth and darkness, far away from green rocks and hospital lights.

“It’s okay, Kal-el,” Bruce soothed, cupping the back of Clark’s head. “I promise. It won’t happen again. I’ve got you.”

Clark pushed his face Bruce's chest, desperate for comfort despite the unforgiving armour. He was still making those desperate, keening sounds that actively shredded Bruce's insides.

Bruce tried his best to soothe Clark’s cries, but the boy was shaking. He was obviously still physically unwell, but the desperation in his movements screamed that he was terrified.

“Here, this should help,” Nightwing was suddenly at Bruce's side, tucking Clark’s red blanket over his shoulders.

Instinctively, Clark reached out to grip the fabric, tiny fists clutching for comfort. Nightwing’s hands smoothed Clark’s hair back and out of his forehead, offering the boy a soft smile.

“Let’s go home, kiddo. I bet it’s scary here,” Nightwing said, voice calm and soothing.

Clark pushed harder at Bruce's chest and only when he began to relax a bit did Bruce actually start unhooking him from the vital monitors. He adjusted Clark’s blanket to act as a pillow against the armour of the suit and stood with Clark carefully cradled in his arms.

“Go ahead,” Nightwing ordered easily, waving Bruce out the door while he pulled Robin close to his side. “Flash is going to help me pack up the things the League gave Clark earlier. Robin and I will bring them back to the Cave.”

For a second, Bruce felt a flash of panic at the prospect of being left alone with Clark in his state. Then, he noticed Robin’s relaxed stance, void of stress and tension in his presence. He could do this, Bruce reminded himself. He’d done it before, and he could do it again.

“Okay,” Bruce nodded firmly, “See you boys in a bit.”

“Don’t forget this,” Nightwing stopped him, handing Clark his FannyPack.

Clark was hesitant to take it, clutching his blanket possessively like he thought they’d try to steal it away. When he saw that they wouldn’t, he grabbed the FannyPack and tucked it securely between his and Bruce's chest.

Bruce smiled at him, clutching Clark just as possessively in return.

* * *

By the time Bruce stepped out of the zeta tube and into his office in the Manor, Clark had grown fidgety. In a way, it was relieving to see him let his guard down enough to be in a state that wasn’t constantly on guard.

Clark made a few aborted attempts to be set down, which Bruce easily allowed. Discretely, he checked him over for any unnoticed injuries. All clear.

“How about we go relax a bit?” Bruce suggested, dropping his shoulders and easing the tension in his form.

Clark blinked up at him with his big, blue eyes.

“Are you hungry?” Bruce asked, first.

He made the sign as well.

Clark shuffled around in his FannyPack and produced the correct picture card. He showed it off proudly.

Bruce eagerly praised him, “Very good, Clark. Hungry. Let’s go get a snack.”

He ruffled Clark’s hair, smoothening it out when Clark leaned heavily into his touch.

“Tired, huh? You’ve had a long day,” Bruce said.

Clark buckled the FannyPack around his waist and held his blanket around his shoulder expectantly. Bruce chuckled shortly, kneeling to pin it back in place.

Once it was secure, Clark did a happy wiggle and then grabbed one of Bruce's hand.

“Did you like the cheerios earlier?” Bruce asked, trying to keep the words flowing.

Clark didn’t respond verbally, but he made affirming hums and occasionally squeezed Bruce's hand. Bruce got him a small bowl and led them to the living room.

He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was until he nearly collapsed on the couch.

Clark scrambled to climb up, only needing a little assistance to get his knees onto the cushions. He didn’t hesitate to glue himself to Bruce's side, head tucked under one of Bruce's arms.

Bruce turned on the tv to some documentary about creatures that live in the deepest parts of the ocean. He let himself drift off to the dull droning of the narrator and the secure bundle of warmth at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so this story is coming to an end soon but don't click away yet! i've got a whole series of stories planned in this universe and will soon introduce characters like lex, lois, jimmy and THE KENTS! yay!
> 
> i'm leaning towards making this a series and posting these stories as individual fics. however, if you think it would be better to post everything under this fic (and you were planning on leaving a comment already, of course), feel free to let me know


	9. SCORE! - Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check [the reference](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23264149#work_endnotes) for the kids' ages if you'd like
> 
> clark's powers are yet to develop 
> 
> the football here is like soccer in america

“Do I have to?” Lex asked grouchily, tugging the ugly, thick shirt off his chest.

The material of the uniform was itchy and stuck to his skin.

His father turned a sharp glare towards him, “Trust me son, there are a hundred other ways I would rather my time and money. This is mandatory.”

Lex shrunk under his father’s words, swallowing any more protests. In his mind, he cursed Miss Mindy and her parent-teacher meetings.

_“Lex has trouble making friends,” she’d said, words soft and gentle as though she could lessen their sting. “Sign him up for a sports team. He might find it easier in a non-academic setting. In any case, the exercise wouldn’t hurt.”_

Lex’s father had taken that to mean that Lex was a public embarrassment.

Lex had gotten an earful on the drive home.

_“No son of mine is going to be seen as the school freak,” his father had said, voice twisted with disdain._

He’d gotten Lex in front of the computers, pulled up the junior sports teams in the area and let Lex pick one out. There hadn’t been much of a choice: it was either swimming, gymnastics, wrestling, or football. The kids in the football poster had looked the happiest and Lex had been feeling especially rotten at the time, so he’s foolishly picked that out.

He regretted it now. At least if he’d chosen swimming, he could pretend to drown and be kicked off the team. There was no way he was going to find an excuse to get out of football.

Suddenly, a loud peal of laughter cut the air.

“Hurry up, Dami! Alfie’s going to leave us behind!” A boy around Lex’s age was yelling.

He was bouncing around on the opposite side of the field, tugging a dark-skinned teenager forward. He was putting is all into it, slanted nearly horizontally as he used all his weight. The teenager was half smiling, half smirking, easily resisting.

An elderly man called out to them, already halfway across the field, “Hurry up, slowpokes. You’ll miss practice.”

The boy’s eyes widened comically. He yelped, letting go of the teenager and scampering towards the old man.

“Wait!” he pleaded, ““Don’t leave me. I’m coming.”

Honestly, Lex found him a bit annoying. As if this experience wasn’t already unpleasant, now Lex had to put up with this dim-witted, overly loud kid.

Suddenly, the boy tripped, seemingly on _air_. He pitched forward, almost face planting in the grass.

“Woah, there!” strong hands caught him under the armpits, raising him safely off the floor.

The man who caught him was tall and strong, dressed in a suit, just like Lex’s father. Lex wanted to look away. He wasn’t in the mood to hear a child get lectured. He’d had enough of that today already. However, he found himself strangely fascinated by this strange family and their antics. 

“What are you doing?” The man asked exasperatedly, checking the boy over for bumps or bruises.

The boy squirmed around, hardly looking rebuffed. Lex gaped. A move like that would have earned him a swat to the head.

Actually – _it did_.

“Stop staring,” Lex’s father huffed.

Lex rubbed the smarting spot, “Sorry, dad.”

He averted his eyes, instead focusing on another group approaching the meet-up place. There were two kids, a girl with long, dark hair tied in a neat ponytail, and a red-headed boy with freckles all over his face and shoulders. They were walking together, with adults who looked like they could be their parents following behind them.

Lex moved to stand at his father’s side, half hiding behind his intimidating form. He didn’t want friends. Kids only teased him. If not for his bald head, then for all the facts he’d been forced to memorize. He just wanted to go home and be alone.

“Good afternoon,” the man with the boy had made it across the field.

The boy was hanging off his back like a monkey, grinning widely. His cheeks were pink, and his hair was messy. He looked like he’d already run a few laps around the field and practice hadn’t even started yet.

To Lex’s surprise, his father turned a rude, ugly grin at the man, “Mr. Wayne.”

The man, Mr. Wayne, ignored him, offering a polite smile as he shifted the boy on his back into a more secure position.

“Mr. Luthor,” Mr. Wayne nodded and then looked down to smile softly at Lex. “And you must be Lex. Nice to meet you.”

Lex looked to his father, unsure of how to respond. His father just kept staring forward, ignoring him.

Lex shrugged and held out a hand to shake, just as he’d been taught, “Nice to meet you too, sir.”

Mr. Wayne’s smile brightened, and he let go of the boy with one hand, offering it to Lex instead. As Lex shook his hand, the boy leaned forward, sliding off and plummeting to the floor.

The teenager was there in a flash, catching the boy and gently lowering him safely to the ground.

Mr. Wayne shook his head, though Lex didn’t think it was in annoyance. Amazingly, he seemed amused.

“Hello, Lex Luthor,” the boy said, thrusting his hand out enthusiastically, “I’m Clark Wayne.”

Lex blinked at him and then hesitantly shook his hand. Clark blushed bright red when Lex touched him. Unlike Mr. Wayne, Clark’s grip was weak and unsteady. 

“Um, hi, I guess,” Lex greeted, again looked up for guidance from his father.

Again, the older Luthor was preoccupied glaring a hole into the side of Mr. Wayne’s head.

Clark beamed at him, unaware of the tension strung through Lex’s body.

“This is Damian. He’s my brother and I like calling him Dami,” Clark introduced, gluing himself to the teenager’s leg.

Damian was tall and strong, holding himself with a confidence that Lex immediately coveted. It was so unfair! Why did Clark – this babyish, bumbling kid – get an awesome brother like Damian when Lex got nothing?

“Nice to meet you, Lex,” Damian said politely, one hand resting on Clark’s shoulder.

Clark leaned up into the touch, moving onto his tiptoes to chase it. Lex rolled his eyes at the behaviour.

The other two kids came barrelling towards them then, the girl yelling, “Wait for us!”

The redhead was stumbling behind her, struggling to keep up.

The girl screeched to a halt before them, eyes darting critically between Lex and Clark before she grinned wide like a shark.

“Hello boys,” she said, puffing out her chest, “I’m Lois and I’m going kick your butts.”

The redhead squeaked, tugging her behind him, “Um, she’s just kidding. She’s not going to kick anyone’s butts.”

“Oh, you bet I am!” Lois nodded seriously, puffing out her chest.

Lex glanced at Clark.

Clark was silent, arm hooked around Damian’s legs as he watched on enraptured. He seemed both fascinated and confused, which Lex thought was strange. Lois was loud, yes, and the red-headed boy was very red-headed, but there was hardly anything remarkable about them.

Somewhere deep in Lex’s chest, he wondered why Clark hadn’t seemed half as interested in him as he seemed in them. He valiantly pushed that thought down, reminding himself that Clark had nearly fallen over twice in his effort to get here. Lex definitely didn’t care what he thought.

Lois followed Lex’s gaze, turning her fierce eyes on Clark.

“What’s your name, kid?” She asked, as though she wasn’t either the same age, or a year older.

Clark looked up at Damian, squeezing his leg lighter. Damian’s hand moved up to rest on his head, fluffing his hair gently.

“Why don’t you introduce yourself?” Damian said gently.

When Clark remained hesitant, Lois turned teasing, “You do know that you can’t play football if you’re attached to another person, right?”

A man who looked to be Lois’ father spoke up, “Lois, come on. You agreed to be nice.”

Lois pouted at him, relenting her attack on Clark, and turned to Lex instead. Immediately, her eyes landed on his head.

She didn’t say anything about his baldness though, asking, “What’s your name, then?”

Lex was not intimidated – she was a _girl_ – so he raised his head high and said, very proudly, “Lex Luthor.”

Lois was unimpressed. She tugged the redhead to her side, throwing an arm over his shoulder.

“This is my friend Jimmy. We’re pros at football,” Lois declared.

Jimmy flushed, ducking away from her, “By that she means we played on Wii.”

Lois shoved him, “Hey! I have a high score!”

Jimmy ignored Lois, turning to Clark and asking for his name much more nicely than Lois had.

This time, Mr. Wayne came to stand behind Clark, looming protectively over him.

Clark blossomed under the attention, practically glowing with how much he was blushing.

“Um, Clark,” Clark introduced himself. “Nice to meet you, Jimmy.”

It was Jimmy’s turn to blush, tucking his head shyly as he said, “Nice to meet you too, Clark.”

Lois was grinning evilly, obviously picking up on how much of a pushover both Clark and Jimmy seemed to be. She turned scheming eyes on Lex, wiggling her eyebrows conspiratorially.

Lex felt a headache coming on. The combination of heat, dirt and noise made the most annoying situation Lex could possibly imagine.

This was going to be a rough few weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love getting your comments (i really really do), but since so many of my main characters are kids, i really need to put out a disclaimer. 
> 
> please, please, please critique and discuss the characters in the comments. they make decisions and mistakes and i love hearing what you readers have to say about this. however, i don't allow any bullying (especially for child characters). that means, no slurs, no shaming, no degrading. any comment containing these will be deleted.


	10. SCORE! - Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wow! there were so many new readers on the last chapter. thanks so much everyone for kudos and comments :)

Bruce stood beside Lionel Luthor, ignoring the other man’s stiff, unwelcoming presence. To his left, the man who’d introduced himself as Lois Lane’s father was chatting good-naturedly with Jimmy Olsen’s mother.

The two had obviously been good friends for quite some time and their conversation flowed easily. Every so often, they’d try to pull Bruce into the conversation. Bruce tried to get involved – the point of this entire thing was networking, after all – but he could never make himself look away from the field for too long.

The coach had sent the kids off to do a drill, instructing them carefully at the start, but now mostly leaving them to figure it out for themselves. It gave the children some time to play together without an adult hovering around.

Lois and Jimmy had taken full advantage, running through the drill with unbridled enthusiasm, shrieking and skipping around. Once in a while, they’d call out for their parents to watch, attempt some fancy footwork, fail, and then dissolve into giggles. Just watching them have so much fun was enough to make Bruce smile.

However, as he looked over at Clark, any happiness within him was snuffed out.

The Luthor kid was standing grumpily at the furthest edge of the field, lazily running the drill. He was very clearly unhappy to be here. Unfortunately, Clark had latched onto him and had followed him into his reclusive bubble.

At first, Clark had tried to talk, but talking had never come very easily to him and Lex Luthor wasn’t very receptive of his efforts. After being brushed off repeatedly, Clark had started running the drill as shown, shoulders slumped dejectedly.

Bruce watched with concern as Clark started fiddling with his fingers, clearly frustrated with the situation.

Clark had developed a habit of fidgeting, wringing his slim fingers together whenever he was anxious or unsure.

It hadn’t been much of a problem until recently.

Ever since they’d gotten Clark up to his age level in homeschooling and enrolled him in a private school, Clark’s anxiety had skyrocketed. He wrung his fingers all day, until the skin was pink and bruised. There were goods days and bad days. Mostly, there were terrible days where Alfred would have to get him a bowl of ice water to soothe his aching joints.

The harmful fidgeting was an easy enough fix. Dick and Wally had taken him shopping and bought him some fidget toys to occupy his hands safely.

The problem was addressing what was causing all of Clark’s stress.

They’d taken Clark’s cheerful, sociable personality for granted. Between the League, the Waynes and a select few members of high society, Clark had only ever been exposed to adults.

Going to a school and being among children who didn’t understand how to tolerate differences in each other had done a number on his self-esteem.

Clark had isolated himself from his classmates after one too many kids had teased him.

Bruce didn’t blame him. There was no reason any child should be allowed to bully his son, but it wasn’t up to him to properly parent Clark’s classmates. The most he could do was equip Clark with the skills necessary to flourish despite them and give him a few more chances at making proper friends.

Hopefully, the football would help him.

“Father,” Damian hissed, concern bleeding into his voice.

Bruce watched as Clark tugged on his fingers, hard enough to make himself wince. He waited to see if Clark would correct the behaviour, but when he kept fidgeting, he knew he had to intervene.

He crossed the field briskly, Damian going off to explain the situation to the coach.

Clark didn’t even notice him approach, completely absorbed in his worries.

“Hey, kiddo,” Bruce crouched down, untangling Clark’s fingers, “Let me see those.”

Clark swallowed shallowly, blinking guiltily from behind his tousled hair.

Bruce gently looked over his fingers, mindful around his knuckles.

“Do they hurt?” Bruce asked, rubbing softly at the joints in his fingers.

Clark shook his head, hesitated, and then, nodded.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

Bruce hooked a finger under his chin, guiding Clark to look up at him.

“Hey, none of that, mister. We’re going to figure this out together, alright?”

Clark nodded, a small smile peeking out.

Bruce kept massaging his hands as he carefully suggested, “Why don’t you go run the drill with Lois and Jimmy?”

Clark frowned, eyes darting towards Lex Luthor. The boy had taken to staring at them, eyebrows scrunched and critiquing.

“If I go then Lex will be alone,” Clark said, like the idea alone was enough to bring him to tears.

Bruce didn’t really care much for the Luthor child. Children raised in high society tended to be stuck up snobs and Bruce doubted that Lex was an exception. While Bruce knew that this was no fault of Lex, his main concern was helping _Clark_. He couldn't have Lex jeopardizing that. 

“I’m sure he won’t mind. Why don’t you ask him to come too?” Bruce suggested.

Clark’s cheeks flushed and he shyly turned to ask Lex, “Hey, um, do you, um. Want to go play with Lois and Jimmy?”

Lex’s eyes widened and he shook his head, “No!”

Clark’s shoulders dropped and he nodded, looking back to Bruce like he’d been read a verdict.

“I don’t want to go alone. What if they don’t like me?” Clark asked, fingers twitching.

Clark caught himself, huffed exasperatedly and then concentrated on holding them still.

Bruce's chest twinged. He hated seeing Clark fighting against himself.

“I think you should give them a chance. If you don’t like it, we can try something else. If you want to take a break, we can do that too,” Bruce said earnestly, “I just want you to be happy.”

Clark took a deep breath and nodded, determination flashing in his eyes.

Bruce was so, so proud of this kid.

* * *

As Clark approached Lois and Jimmy, he considered pulling out the Tangle fidget Wally had gotten him. With Dick's encouragement, he’d brought his favourite red and blue one with him. It sat heavy in his pocket, tempting him to play with it.

Clark didn’t really understand why it helped. He just knew that sometimes his brain got stuck in a loop of _panic!panic!fear!_ and when he scrunched the Tangle, it was easier to calm his thoughts back to calm-calm-calm. Wally had said that it was okay and normal. He’d even shown Clark some of his own fidget toys, some of which were pretty cool.

However, when he’d gone to school, Clark had learned that maybe they weren’t so cool after all. Sometimes, when he wanted to use his Tangle, his classmates would steal it from him. Clark really would give it over easily if he just asked – because sharing is caring and Clark always cared – but some kids didn’t like asking. They just grabbed and took, and it wasn’t fair. Once, Clark had tried to get his Tangle back but the teacher had caught him and had taken his Tangle away for the whole day. Clark still didn’t understand what he’d done wrong.

Worse were the times when Clark would take his Tangle out and the other kids would laugh. Clark loved laughing. It was such a fun thing to do and such a nice sound to hear. Yet, when the other kids laughed at him, he didn’t like it at all. They’d call him mean names like freak or wierdo. Clark hated it.

So, not wanting to risk it, Clark left his Tangle in his pocket.

“Heya, Clark!” Lois called when she saw him.

She flashed him a bright, sunny smile, pausing her game with Jimmy.

Jimmy waved, more subdued in his greeting, “Hi.”

Clark felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest with how easy it was to just wave back and say, “Hi.”

“Wanna run the drills with us?” Lois asked, nudging her ball towards him without waiting for an answer.

Clark looked over his shoulder and saw Bruce and Damian watching him carefully. Damian waved when he noticed him watching. Clark waved back before turning back to Lois and Jimmy.

“Um, yes, please,” he said, putting his ball on the floor.

It was easier running the drill with Lois and Jimmy. Lois talked a lot, but Clark didn’t mind. Sometimes she said funny things that made him laugh. Jimmy was really nice too. He wasn’t like some of the boys from school. He was very good at listening to Lois talk, he didn’t push or shove, and sometimes when Lois said something ridiculous, he’d look over at Clark with an amused smile.

Clark let himself relax around them, sparing only a moment to feel sorry that Lex was missing out. He resolved to convincing Lex to join them for the next practice before launching into a story of his own. As Lois listened, completely enraptured, and Jimmy turned wide, impressed eyes at him, Clark felt hope that maybe, he’d made some new friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [here's a picture of a Tangle fidget in case anyone wants to see what they look like](https://www.additudemag.com/product/tangle-fidget-toy/)
> 
> also, yes, bruce is a bit annoyed that clark tried to befriend lex, only for lex to isolate him. he's just a parent who wants his kid to have friends. he understands that lex hasn't been provided the love and guidance clark has. he isn't angry at lex, persay, just the situation


	11. SCORE! - Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't believe how quickly i'm churning out these chapters. hope you all enjoy :)

Wally watched in amusement as Clark bounced around the room excitedly, all geared up for football practice.

“Are you sure you want Wally to take you?” Bruce asked Clark, unable to keep the edge of concern out of his voice.

Clark was unfazed, gripping Wally’s hand securely, “Yep, yep. Please, can I? I want Jimmy to see him.”

Internally, Bruce was rolling his eyes. Of course, that was the reason.

Wally’s eyes tightened, lips turning down unhappily, “You okay, Bruce?”

“It’s fine, Wally,” Bruce said.

Wally’s chest puffed out slightly and he nodded, “It better be.”

Bruce sighed, giving up the battle. Of course, he trusted Wally with Clark. The man had proved time and time again that he was more than capable. The past few months had been tough, though. The next few months weren’t shaping up to be much better. Recently, it seemed the only thing Bruce got right was his kids. More than ever, he just wanted them to be happy.

“Now,” Wally turned to Clark instead, “What’s so special about this Jimmy you want me to meet?”

Clark lit up, bubbling with enthusiasm, “His hair. It’s super red. Like, even redder than yours. He said he’d never met anyone else with red hair. I told him I’d bring my uncle next time.”

Wally’s chest flooded with warmth. _Uncle_. The term had been tough to earn but completely worth it.

“I’ll just zap him with some lightning and see what happens,” Wally shrugged. “Maybe I can train him as my sidekick.”

Clark shoved against him, more cuddling into his side than anything, “He’s my friend. You can't have him.”

Over Clark’s head, Wally met Bruce's gaze.

“Friend?” Wally mouthed hopefully.

Bruce shrugged but smiled softly.

Dick cut into the conversation, carrying some chilled water bottles and a bag of snacks, “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Clark cheered, rushing over to help carry the snacks. As Dick, Wally and Clark ambled out to the car, Bruce made a small wish to the universe that it would be favourable towards Clark.

* * *

Lex squinted past blinding sun, studying Lois and Jimmy.

He didn’t think he liked them.

Lois was very loud and rude. Her hair was always messy, and her clothes always rumpled. It wasn’t proper for a girl to be on the same football team as boys, anyway. 

Jimmy was the exact opposite, hiding in her shadow. He was shy and quiet and irritating.

“Jimmy! Jimmy! Come see!” an excited voice called across the field.

Clark was there, then, racing to grab Jimmy’s hands. Jimmy’s eyes were wide and spooked, throwing a startled look at Lois as Clark dragged him away.

Lex looked up at his father. After the last practice, his father had been very disappointed.

_“You need to make more of an effort. Even that Wayne kid was better than you,” his father had said, words stinging. “It’s an embarrassment.”_

Lex hadn’t really understood what his father had meant. _Even that Wayne kid?_ Why _even_?

His father scowled down at him, “What’s wrong now?”

In his chest, Lex’s heart jumped.

“Nothing, dad,” he said hastily, standing up straighter.

He stared straight ahead, ignoring his father’s gaze fixed on him.

Clark was leading Jimmy to a tall, slim man with red hair. There was another man too, who was handsome, with faintly tanned brown skin and dark, wavy hair. He looked like one of the men who modelled watches in fancy magazines.

For a second, Lex could only feel confused. Where was Mr. Wayne? Clark’s teenaged brother? The old man? Then, as Clark launched himself at the two men, finding himself easily caught and held, Lex understood.

These were people who loved Clark. People who cared.

Lex watched as the man with red hair stooped, chatting with Jimmy. He was smiling brightly, ruffling Jimmy’s hair teasingly. Clark was crawling all over the other man, grinning wide and pleased with himself. Safe and held and loved.

Lex risked a glance at his father, who was just as cold and emotionless as he’d always been – as he always would be.

The jealousy in Lex's chest was sharp and cold and ugly. Bigger and heavier than anything he’d ever felt before.

Because – as he watched Clark jump the ground, arms flapping excitedly, surrounded by so _many_ lovely people – it just wasn’t fair.

* * *

“Alright, kids, listen up,” the coach was saying, voice strong and confident. “You all did a good job last time. Today, we’ll continue practising the drill from last time. I’ll also teach you another drill at the end of class.”

Clark nodded, grabbing his ball, and positioning himself in a place where Dick and Wally could see him. They whooped and cheered whenever he did a good job with the drill. Clark liked making them proud, so he tried harder and harder every time until he’d perfected the drill.

Lex, on the other hand, was hardly paying attention to what he was doing. It was a chore being here. It was boring and hot and messy. He didn’t like it. Worse, he was lonely. At least when he was at home, he had no choice but to be alone. He could hole up in his room and no one would bother him – because there was no one else there. Here, Jimmy and Lois were stuck together, always chatting and giggling obnoxiously.

Then there was Clark, who’d spent all of ten minutes with him before his uncle Wally had dragged him away. Lex didn’t really care what Mr. Wally thought about him, but he hated the man. Clark had _wanted_ to talk to him, and Mr. Wally had taken him away. Now, Clark didn’t even try being his friend anymore. He was too busy showing off to the adults who’d brought him to practice.

“Lex, son,” Lex’s father called.

Lex caught the coach’s eyes and when she nodded in permission, he scurried over.

“Yes, dad?”

“I’ve got a meeting to get to,” his father said, frowning, “Grab your things. We need to leave.”

“What? No,” Lex whined.

He hated being dragged off to his father’s meetings. He was never allowed in the room. He was just expected to wait outside for hours, with nothing to read and no one to talk to. It was torture.

“Alexander,” his father grumbled threateningly.

Lex’s shoulders slumped.

“Okay, dad,” he said dejectedly.

As he turned to go collect his water bottle, a voice spoke.

“Mr. Luthor. I’m Wally West, Clark’s uncle. Forgive me for eavesdropping,” the redheaded man who’d brought Clark was blushing and rubbing the back of his neck. “I couldn’t help overhearing that you’re taking Lex home early?”

Lex’s father hummed impatiently, “That’s correct.”

“I’m happy to watch him while you’re gone,” the man offered. “It’s no problem.”

Lex gaped. Was this for real?

“It’s a long meeting,” Lex’s father drawled.

Clark was scurrying over, interest piqued. He flashed a bright smile at Lex, which Lex could only return very weakly. Never before had anyone shown such an interest in him. He hadn’t even wanted to be at practice earlier. Now, he thought he’d trade his right arm just to stay and be ‘watched over’.

Wally’s smile tightened, “He can stay over with us until you’re finished. It would be a shame to let him miss these early classes.”

Clark gasped excitedly, squeezing his hands together.

“Please, please, please, Mr. Luthor,” he pleaded.

Lex’s head was spinning. Why did they care so much?

Lionel sighed, shoulders taut with annoyance, “Fine. I’ll call when I’m ready to pick him up.”

Clark whooped, cheering happily.

To Lex, Lionel said, “Behave yourself.”

Lex nodded, ears feeling full and stuffy.

“This is so cool!” Clark crowded into his space. “I’ve never had a friend over before.”

“Uh huh,” Lex said, eyes fixed on Mr. Wally West.

Lex’s father wasted no time in leaving and Wally waited until he was truly gone before crouching down.

Clark took this as permission to hug him, squeezing his shoulders while saying, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Wally patted his back, “Of course, buddy. Why don’t you go call Dick over?”

Clark took off easily, running so quickly he kicked up some dirt.

“Hey, Lex?” Wally asked, voice gentle.

“Um, yes?” Lex gulped.

He hadn’t realized how much safer he felt when Clark was around. Sure, Clark was a bit overexcited and loud, but now that he was alone with Wally, Lex felt his heartbeat pick up.

“If you’re not comfortable going to our house, we can try ice cream or an arcade instead. I won’t tell Clark,” Wally said.

Lex’s brows furrowed. “My dad said I could go.”

Wally’s eyes widened and he rushed to explain, “Of course. You are still invited, I promise. However, it can be scary doing things for the first time. Clark’s never been over to anyone’s house before and I don’t think he understands how difficult it could be. I know you don’t really know any of us. I was thinking you’d be more comfortable if we went somewhere more familiar.”

“Oh,” Lex said, because he guessed it made sense.

If Wally was responsible for him, he’d have to listen to him. Lex thought of if the situation was reversed. He shuddered to think of Clark having to listen to everything his father told him to do. It was smart that Wally was suggesting this. Unnecessary in Lex’s case, Lex thought, but smart.

“Um, can we go for ice cream first? And then maybe still go to your house?” Lex asked.

He already felt safe with these people, but he didn’t like the anxious scrunch to Wally’s eyebrows.

As he’d hoped, Wally smiled, “Sounds like a plan.”

Just was Wally was standing up, Clark arrived, bringing the other man with him.

“Lex, this is my brother, Dick,” Clark introduced proudly.

Dick smiled at him, just as easy and comfortable as Wally had, and held out a hand, “Nice to mee you, Lex.”

“Lex is coming home with us today,” Clark announced, beaming.

“Actually,” Wally interrupted, “We’re going to get ice cream first. We’ll see what happens after.”

Lex shuffled, unsure if he’d be able to handle Clark’s disappointment.

However, Clark jumped up, “Awesome!”

Wally winked at Lex before he was caught in the whirlwind of Clark’s excitement, and Lex realized that maybe this football thing wasn’t so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lex and clark's friendship will officially begin in the next chapter. 
> 
> lastly, enjoy this doodle of clark that i sketched  
>   
> [and here it is on tumblr](https://courageousboss.tumblr.com/post/618762703620734976/heres-a-doodle-of-clark-kent-in-the-score-arc-of)


	12. SCORE! - Chapter Four

As Lex and Clark headed back onto the field, Clark seemed to have decided that they were a pair. He was stuck to Lex’s side, following the other boy around like a puppy. Lex had migrated back into his reclusive corner, Clark hovering around him. He was almost buzzing with excitement, so much so that he hadn’t seemed to notice that Lex wasn’t very interested in the sport.

A part of Wally was hurting. Clark’s desperation to make a friend only reflected how isolated and lonely he’d been feeling recently. It broke his heart just thinking about it.

On the other hand, Lex seemed like a needed a friend too. Maybe, they’d be good for each other.

A sudden, single raindrop splashed onto Wally’s nose.

Dick snorted, then reached out to wipe it away with his thumb.

Wally swatted him away, a blush rising on his cheeks, “Stop that.”

Dick flashed an annoying grin at him, eyes widening when another raindrop fell on his head. He frowned up at the sky, looking personally insulted.

“It’ll really suck if it started raining,” Wally said.

As if his words had been some sort of trigger, a drizzle started, bringing tiny, cold drops of water onto the field.

The coach blew her whistle and announced that practice would be cut short.

“Aww, no fair!” Lois complained loudly to her father, even as she shook her wet ponytail out.

Jimmy was busy muddying his shoes and even Lex acknowledged the rain with an eye roll of annoyance.

Clark, however, just kept running the drill, hands clenched into tight fists.

Wally and Dick eyed Clark with no small amount of concern.

Clark, for some reason, was overly sensitive to gloomy, wet weather. Give him a sunbeam and a comfy cushion, and he’d curl up like a kitten, enjoying the light and warmth for as long as he was allowed. However, once the grey clouds crept up, he’d turn grouchy and quiet, too upset to focus on anything but missing the sun.

It wasn’t usually a problem. When Clark had been home-schooled, they could easily cancel classes on days when Gotham’s torrential showers occurred. In private school, the students would be kept safe and dry inside.

Here, out on the open football field, was completely different.

Dick expected Clark to be more upset than Lois, but he seemed completely unaware that it had even started raining.

Wally tossed the car keys to Dick, hurrying over to Clark. He may have used a touch of superspeed, but it wasn’t technically against the rules since Clark fell into the League’s ‘VIP list’.

Lex stared at him, almost critical of his worry. Wally tried to shake off how self-couscous he felt under Lex’s piercing gaze. 

“Hey, Clark? Bud?” He approached slowly, not getting too close too quickly.

Clark didn’t react at all.

“What’s wrong with him?” Lex asked snidely, face twisted with criticism.

And, Wally couldn’t help the wave of annoyance that surged over him. _Why was Lex's first reaction one of judgement and not one of care?_

“Nothing,” Wally said, voice stiff, “Go find Dick. And, um. Don’t wander off anywhere, please.”

Lex stared at him for a few seconds, eyes too cold for a child’s face.

Then, he shrugged, casting one last look at Clark before walking away.

With him gone, Wally felt safer to approach Clark more on his own terms.

“Kal-el,” Wally said, voice soft as a whisper, “It’s me.”

Clark finally looked at him when he spoke his name, but his eyes were distant.

“Kal-el,” Wally repeated, signing Clark’s sign for Flash. “It’s me.”

Clark’s gaze latched onto Wally’s hands, tracing the movement of his fingers and palms. As recognition began bleeding back into his eyes, his shoulders began to shake.

“Oh, baby,” there was fire-ice racing through Wally’s chest, “It’s okay. I’m going to make it okay.”

He crouched down, hands open before him, signing Clark’s signs for ‘safe’ and ‘home’.

Clark hesitated, then held out his own hands, unclenching his fists.

Wally gasped. Clark’s nails had dug shallow, crescent-shaped wounds into his palms. A few drops of blood wept out, mixing with the ever-pouring rain.

“Tell me what’s wrong, Kal-el. Let me fix it,” Wally begged, cradling Clark’s hands in his own.

Clark was shaking under him, his small body coiled tight.

“The rain,” Clark said, with much effort, “The rain and the, um, the mud.”

Wally looked down. There was mud splatted all up to Clark’s shins, probably from when he’d kept running the drill.

“Okay, okay. I can fix that. Okay?” Wally said, shrugging off his jacket.

It was more for fashion than warmth, so the rain hadn’t soaked into the fabric.

“Can I touch you? Just your legs. I’m going to wipe off the mud,” Wally explained.

Clark nodded, still shaking. Looking at him now, Wally was sure he was also crying.

Wally gently wiped the mud off, talking quietly to Clark the entire time. It was important he remain calm and collected right now. Clark was counting on him.

Once Clark’s skin was mud-free, Wally asked, “Are you ready to go home?”

Surprisingly, Clark shook his head, sniffling.

“What? Why?” Wally asked, unable to hide his shock.

He watched as Clark started wringing his hands. Smoothly and without any fuss, he took Clark’s Tangle from his pocket, placing it in Clark’s hand. Instantly, Clark went to messing with the cord instead of his fingers, saving his poor hands from any further suffering.

“I know you’re not happy, right now. Why don’t you want to leave?” Wally asked, nonplussed.

“Lex. He wants ice cream,” Clark said.

Wally didn’t think he’d ever stop being surprised at Clark’s kind nature.

“Yes, he did. But I think he’ll like hot chocolate just as much. Especially Alfred’s hot chocolate.”

Clark was still unsure, “Will you ask? I don’t want him to be mad at me.”

Wally nodded, smiling, “Of course.”

Clark smiled back, the relief in his features lighting up his face.

“Now, do you want me to carry you? That way you won’t get any more mud on you,” Wally offered.

Clark nodded, going easily into Wally’s arms. He was still trembling, wet and cold and missing the sun, but he’d calmed down a lot. Wally pressed a kiss to his head, peppering a few more on when Clark blushed and leaned closer against him.

“Thanks for helping me,” Clark said earnestly.

“Anytime, kiddo. Anytime,” Wally promised.

* * *

The drive to Wayne Manor was one of the strangest car rides Lex had ever had.

Clark – who had seemed so ordinary before – was balled up on Wally West’s lap, sniffling.

Lex had tried to talk to him earlier, when Wally had first brought him in, but Clark had just pressed his palm over his mouth for a few seconds and then hidden his face away.

“Clark’s not ready to talk right now,” Wally had explained “Give him a moment, okay?”

Lex had nodded, like if it was normal for a boy to decide he didn’t want to talk.

Dick had told him to buckle up, which Lex did, and then Wally started to explain that the ice-cream trip had been cancelled.

“What? Why?” Lex asked, even as he knew it wasn’t his place to question.

Wally was the adult in charge and if he said ice cream was cancelled, then ice cream was cancelled. But Lex had really been looking forward to it, more than he’d realized.

Wally hesitated, which made Dick speak up from the driver’s seat.

“For starters, we all got wet in the rain,” Dick said.

Lex found himself looking to Clark, who’d caused both himself and Wally to be completely drenched.

“We’ll get you some dry clothes and Alfred will make some hot chocolate,” Wally said.

“Alfred?” Lex asked.

Clark shifted, turning his head to rest on Wally’s shoulder so he could look at Lex. He didn’t say anything, just blinked heavy, blue eyes at him.

Lex frowned at him, beyond confused.

_Did Clark want to say something? If he did, what was stopping him?_

“Alfred’s our butler,” Dick explained, “But he’s more like a grandpa.”

“Was he the old man from last time?” Lex asked.

Dick choked on a laugh, “Probably, yes. Don’t call him old to his face, though.”

Clark huffed something that might have been a silent laugh, only confusing Lex further. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why Clark was being so quiet all of a sudden.

Well, if he wanted to know, the best thing to do would be to ask a question.

“Why’re you being so quiet?” Lex asked, words directed at Clark.

He was a bit annoyed when Clark pressed his palm against his mouth again.

Wally’s arms tightened around Clark, “Clark didn’t like being out in the rain. He’s a bit upset about it and he doesn’t feel like talking yet.”

_What?!?_

Lex thought of his father and his snide words. He’d wanted Lex to be more like Clark, but Lex was sure that if he ever tried to stop talking because of a little rain, he’d be disinherited.

“Do you think you understand that, kid?” Wally asked, not unkindly.

Lex didn’t. He didn’t understand why Clark was acting like a baby. More so, he didn’t understand why Wally and Dick were allowing it.

Though, the look on Wally’s face didn’t leave much room for refusal. Lex knew that if he told the truth, Wally would try to lecture him into understanding. Lex wasn’t in the mood for a lecture, so he pressed his lips together and lied.

“Yes, I understand,” Lex said, turning to look out of the window.

The monotonous blur of the roadside was more appealing than the view of Wally fussing over Clark. He blocked it out, letting his mind wander. A small part of him lamented the ice cream that had been lost to the rain. A bigger part of him wondered why he’d ever thought that spending the afternoon with Clark’s family could be better than waiting outside his father’s meeting room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clark’s body is like a little battery, charging up on sun rays. Since he’s just a kid, his powers haven’t developed and he’s extra susceptible to changes in the weather. Since Gotham is already so dark and gloomy, he needs every bit of sunshine that he can get. Especially when he’s wide awake, jumping around and energetic.
> 
> Also, some of the negative feelings Lex experiences are jealousy. He just doesn't understand how to identify it yet. 
> 
> Comment please :) I love hearing from you all
> 
> edit: i forgot to add an information reference for selective mutism with kids. [click here if you'd like to read more information!](https://childmind.org/guide/parents-guide-to-sm/#:~:text=Selective%20mutism%20is%20more%20common,put%20them%20at%20additional%20risk.)


	13. SCORE! - Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [i added a reference for ages in the end of work notes. check it out if you're interested.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23264149#work_endnotes)

Having a full house was a good thing in many situations. Holidays were cheerier, dinner was louder, mornings were sleepier and even chores were easier. However, when preparing to entertain unexpected company, a full house was not something Bruce aspired to.

“Father, why am I being punished?” Damian deadpanned, frown firmly in place.

Fortunately, Bruce had long grown immune. 

“Please, Damian, be reasonable,” Bruce said, briefly looking up at his son.

Damian had grown so much since he’d first started living with them. He’d gotten even taller than Dick now, with strong, sturdy shoulders. He still had his mother’s graceful, delicate features and mannerisms, but now, he also had some of his own. Like how he could direct the full wrath of a displeased teenager straight onto Bruce.

“It’s not fair, Father,” Damian argued.

Bruce rolled his eyes when he saw Jason approach Damian from behind, shit-eating grin on his face.

“Jason, please,” Bruce implored.

His warning gave Damian enough warning that when Jason ignored Bruce's words, Damian judo threw him.

Jason landed with an, “Oof.”

He rolled over lazily, pleased at riling Damian up.

“Aren’t you supposed to be downstairs?” Bruce asked, referring to the Cave.

Making no attempt to get up, Jason starfished out on the carpet.

“So is Damian,” Jason shrugged. “But I guess now we know who’s the favourite.”

Damian flushed, irritated and indignant, “Quiet!”

Bruce scrubbed a hand down his face, “Both of you, please. Dick’ll be here any minute now. He specifically asked me to limit the number of people upstairs.”

“Of course, Dickie-bird says jump and we’re all supposed to ask how high,” Jason grumbled, even as he obediently peeled himself off the floor.

His knees creaked the way it did when he hadn’t done his morning stretches. 

“If you must know, he said something about Clark getting caught in the rain,” Bruce elaborated.

He wasn’t surprised at the urgency his words called into Jason and Damian’s actions. They were all aware of how Clark suffered in cold weather.

“Wally was able to calm him down,” Bruce assured. “They’re bringing Clark and Lex here to change into some dry clothes.”

“Wait,” Damian shifted, “Lex _Luthor_? How’d they manage that?”

Honestly, Bruce hadn’t questioned it. For Lionel Luthor to agree to this was a feat only accomplishable by the chaotic partnership of Dick Grayson and Wally West.

“You don’t want to know, kid,” Jason slung a heavy arm over Damian’s shoulder, dragging him from the room.

Damian squawked, “I’m not a kid!”

Their bickering didn’t ease up until Bruce heard the gears of the clock grinding shut, sealing them in the Cave.

* * *

When Clark noticed Alfred waiting on the front steps of the Manor, he felt a million pounds lighter. Wally had made him buckle in, but Clark honestly felt like he could float right through the top of the car.

Alfred didn’t waste any time, approaching the car once Dick had parked.

“Good day,” he greeted, polite as always.

For Lex, he did an extra bow, “And it’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Clark smiled when Lex blushed, ducking his head bashfully.

Lex mumbled out a, “Pleasure to meet you too, sir,” obviously unaccustomed to being addressed so formally.

“How about we get everyone inside and in dry clothes?” Alfred asked, ushering them all towards the front door.

Wally tried to grab his hand but Clark wiggled away, moving to stand besides Alfred instead. He beamed when the older man gracefully took his hand, squeezing it gently but firmly.

“How are you doing, Master Clark?” Alfred asked.

Clark felt his shoulders rising to meet his ears. The way Alfred was looking at him made him feel so loved and important. His frayed nerves soothed a bit and he didn’t feel so on edge anymore. Even with the wet, cold clothes clinging to his skin, having Alfred here, he knew he would be taken care of.

“I’m okay now, Alfred,” Clark answered honestly, finding his words easily.

* * *

Once everyone was dressed in dry, warm clothes, Alfred shooed them off while he busied himself preparing snacks in the kitchen.

“What do you want to do?” Lex asked, looking out of his element.

Clark felt sorry for him all of a sudden. Lex was currently wearing one of Clark’s nicer tee-shirts and a pair of his jeans. They were loose on him in a way that highlighted how slim Lex was compared to him.

“I dunno. How about a tour?” Clark suggested, hoping to make Lex feel more comfortable.

Lex nodded, shifting uneasily until Clark grabbed his hand and dragged him along. He meant to show off the theatre room, which had a gaming console and a huge tv. However, Lex stalled in the hallway, eyes glued to the dozens of pictures Bruce and Alfred had hung on the walls.

They were all group shots, progressing from when it had just been Bruce and Alfred, all the way to now, with all of the siblings. 

“What are these?” Lex asked, which Clark thought was a very strange question.

“Um, well, they’re family pictures,” Clark said, unsure of what Lex was asking. 

Lex was looking at him in that _way_ again – like Clark was a Rubik’s cube that was twisted out of place. Like if he could get his hands on him, he’d know exactly how to fix him.

It was uncomfortable and unsettling, so Clark refused to acknowledge it.

Instead, he asked, “Don’t you have family pictures at home?”

Lex’s expression shuttered and Clark could only feel more untethered. He had no way of understanding what Lex was thinking when the boy kept shifting his mood on a dime.

“Only one,” Lex admitted. “It’s a family portrait from when I was a baby.”

“That’s cool,” Clark said.

Clark loved baby pictures. He didn’t have any of his own, but between Bruce and the League, Clark thought he might have more childhood pictures than anyone else on the planet. 

Lex shrugged indifferently, stepping closer to inspect one of the framed pictures. He jabbed a thumb up against the glass, leaving a smudge Clark would have to clean before Alfred saw it.

“Who’s that?” he asked curiously.

Clark smiled proudly, “That’s Cass. She’s my sister. She’s really, super cool.”

She’d been the one who’d sat with him evening after evening, shaping his fingers into words. She’d helped him understand and she’d helped him _be understood_. She was strong and brave and very nearly magical. Clark loved her.

Clark was a breath away from telling Lex all of this when he was interrupted.

“No, she’d not,” Lex said, voice clipped, “Look at her.”

“What do you mean?”

It was a picture of the entire family. One of those very traditional ones where Alfred would insist that they all wear fancy suits and dresses. He at least let them pick out their own ties and scarves, so naturally, there was a stripe of mismatched patterns and colours. They were positioned in height order, with Bruce and Alfred in the centre. Jason and Duke were at the back, standing tall and stocky. Then Dick, Tim and Damian. Finally, at the front, Clark stood in line with Cassandra, matching her quiet smile with a blinding one of his own.

It was a beautiful picture.

“She can't be your sister. Her eyes are different. Her skin too,” Lex observed.

“She’s adopted,” Clark said, feeling wrongfooted.

He didn’t understand why, but the admission made him feel guilty.

Lex’s finger moved to point at Duke, “Is he adopted too?”

Clark felt anger lace through his chest. Duke wasn’t around very much, but when he was, he was one of the best people Clark knew. He had a giant, warm laugh that filled up a room and made everyone around happy. In a way, Clark felt uniquely connected to Duke, especially when the man would carry him around on his shoulders. It made Clark feel like he could do anything – even fly.

Duke was amazing and wonderful and funny and caring and helpful. And Clark loved him.

Yet, the first thing Lex had done was separate him from the group.

It wasn’t fair.

“No,” Clark said, fighting to make his voice audible, “He’s not, but he’s still a part of our family.”

Lex didn’t look away from the picture, “Oh.”

“Actually—” Clark tried to say, but the words died in the throat.

Lex turned to look at him, waiting a few moments before he grew impatient.

“Actually what?” He prompted, short and annoyed. 

Clark swallowed, willing his words to cooperate. It was hard, sometimes, to make himself say what he wanted to say. It seemed like his mind would rather turn cold and reflective, shutting out anything that he didn’t want to deal with. Signing was only a tiny bit easier. Using his own signs helped a lot, but only his family could understand him then.

“Um, actually,” Clark said, looking at the picture since it was less scary than looking at Lex, “We’re all adopted. Well, except for Damian. So, um, I was adopted too.”

“Oh.”

“Is that okay?” Clark asked.

A wave of emotions washed over Lex’s face, so quickly that Clark couldn’t identify even one of them.

When Lex spoke, his face was a practised casualness, “I guess.”

Clark nodded. A part of him felt small and aching, believing that Lex was lying. Another part of him felt angry that he would think that of his friend.

It didn’t make any sense warring with himself, so he just smiled at Lex, “Want to see if Alfred’s ready with the hot chocolate?”

He didn’t want to be alone with Lex right now and his breath flooded out in relief when Lex smiled and shrugged. Clark struggled to put any negative thoughts out of his mind. He offered up a smile and focused on regaling Lex with the deliciousness he was to expect from Alfred’s hot chocolate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully the waynes can teach lex some vaulable lessons about family and acceptance and tolerance, because he's obviously not learning it at home :(
> 
> please leave comments! i love hearing your feedback


	14. SCORE! - Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a heads up, lex makes some misogynistic comments towards the end. keep in mind that while his statements are unacceptable, he's starting from a place where he needs to grow.

Lex pressed his hands against the warmth of the cup. It was steaming the way he’d never achieved using a microwave. Tentatively, he sniffed at it, relaxing at the sweet smell of rich chocolate.

“This is delicious!” Clark cheered, hopping about as though he already had a sugar high.

Judging by the chocolate moustache he currently wore, Lex wouldn’t be surprised if he’d gulped down half the cup already.

Alfred, their butler, accepted the praise gracefully.

“Lex! Do you like it?” Clark asked, bumbling towards him like an overexcited puppy.

Lex stepped back, almost bowled over by the force of Clark’s enthusiasm. He tried to hold himself strong and stiff, hoping Clark hadn’t noticed.

However, Mr. Wayne already had. He put a hand on Clark’s back. Without restraining Clark, Mr. Wayne gently guided him away from Lex’s personal bubble.

Lex blinked at him and Mr. Wayne just smiled softly.

“Lex? Do you like it?” Clark repeated, unfazed and apparently unaware of Mr. Wayne’s intervention.

Lex took another sip of his hot chocolate, smiling when he nodded, “Yes. It’s the best I’ve ever had.”

Clark took it as a personal victory, “I knew it! I knew it, I knew it, it knew it!”

It was baffling to see Clark bubbling over with words now when he’d been more than silent a few hours ago. Lex’s curiosity was begging him to ask questions. However, after how Clark had reacted when he’d asked about the pictures, Lex was hesitant. He didn’t want Clark to be angry with him, so he held his tongue and watched Clark fall over himself praising Alfred’s hot chocolate.

Mr. Wayne had taken a seat on a very comfortable looking armchair. Alfred had given him a hot chocolate of his own, but he hadn’t drunken much of it. He was too busy watching Clark’s antics.

“Can we pack some for Lex to take home?” Clark asked.

A sudden, unexpected ache started in Lex’s stomach, taking his smile and his appetite.

He wasn’t very excited to go home. The Luthor Manor was the total opposite to the Wayne Manor. It hard and cold where the Wayne Manor was soft and warm and comforting.

Clark turned puppy dog eyes on Alfred, even though it was obviously unnecessary. All Clark ever had to do was ask and the adults here bent over backwards to get him what he wanted.

Lex also had maids and butlers, all obligated to get him what he needed. However, their job was to keep him from bothering his father. The adults here were genuinely interested in making Clark happy. 

The next hour was spent with Clark running up and down, proposing games for them to play but being too riled up to sit down and focus on any one thing. His energy was an amazing thing to watch and Lex had enough fun just being around him. Mr. Wayne sat with them, supervising and occasionally giving Clark little reminders.

“Clark, don’t run near those vases,” he’d say, and Clark would immediately correct his behaviour.

Or, he’d say, “Remember that Lex has to want to play whatever game you choose too,” and Clark would be beside himself ensuring Lex was having fun.

It was interesting to see their dynamic. It was so unlike the one he had with his father.

Lex always tried to do the opposite of what his father asked. And, his father always tried to never be around him long enough to have to ask him to do anything.

_Was what Clark and Mr. Wayne had a normal father-son relationship? Or, was this special treatment just for adopted children?_

Questions swirled around Lex’s mind until the sun dipped and Mr. Wayne’s cell phone suddenly started ringing.

He answered it easily, but the slight downwards tick of his lips was enough of a hint for Lex.

It was his father. It was time to go home.

“Lex, your father sent someone to pick you up,” Mr. Wayne said when he ended the call.

“Okay, Mr. Wayne,” Lex said.

He turned to Clark, upping his energy levels a bit to say, “Bye, Clark. I’ll see you at the next practice.”

Clark’s entire body slumped. It was just like in the cartoons where a dark rain cloud would hover over a character’s head.

“Does he have to go already?” Clark asked Mr. Wayne, voice whiny.

“I’m sorry, kiddo. Lex's dad needs him home,” Mr. Wayne said.

“Can I walk him out? Please?” Clark asked.

“No problem,” Mr. Wayne said.

Clark stuck to his side, still sad and frowny but clearly making an effort to not be too upset. Lex felt the same. He wanted to stay here. Maybe see Clark’s room. Play a video game. Look at some more family photos.

Alfred brought him his football clothes, washed, dried and folded. He also gave him a thermos of hot chocolate, which managed to make Lex feel a little better.

Clark walked him to the car, which was unsurprisingly being driven by one of the maids. Her name was Miss Pamela. She was very nice and Lex liked her. She said hi to Clark, who turned red and shy.

“Bye, Clark,” Lex said, climbing into the car.

Clark waved, “Bye, Lex,” and stood there until the car had pulled away.

Lex watched as he went back inside, no doubt returning to the love and warmth of his family. He buckled himself in, sitting quietly as Miss Pamela made excuses for his father.

“He’d pick you up himself, but the meeting was going to run very late,” she said, but she was lying.

Lex knew the truth. His father just didn’t care.

* * *

During the next few practices, Lex learned a lot more about Clark.

For one, it seemed like there were a million different adults responsible for him.

There was his brothers Damian and Dick, and his uncle Wally, his butler and Mr. Wayne. Already, Lex thought that was a hefty number. But then Clark had come with a strong woman who introduced herself as Diana and fielded all of Lois’ questions. Another time, Clark’s other uncle Hal came, accidentally spilt a sports drink on himself and had Jimmy laughing so hard he cried. There was another uncle, a man named Arthur, who was more muscular than any pro wrestler Lex had seen on tv. To top it all off, Clark’s siblings sometimes tagged along. There was Duke, Jason and Tim. Tim’s friend Stephanie came once and caused a ruckus.

It was mind-boggling. Lex couldn’t imagine why all of these adults would want to chauffeur Clark to football practice. Adults were too busy to waste their time driving children around. At least, that’s what Lex had thought. Seeing Clark and his big, crowded family, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

He also learned that Clark was far better than making friends than he was.

Lois was obnoxiously loud and never stopped talking long enough to listen to anyone else. Lex didn’t even try to talk to her, writing her off as annoying and minding his own business.

Clark, however, stood and listened, somehow content in her babbling.

Lex had asked him once, “Don’t your ears hurt after all of her yapping?”

Clark had laughed and said, “She’s actually really funny, Lex. I like her.”

Maybe it was girl madness – Lex couldn’t figure it out.

Jimmy was maybe more irritating than Lois. He just followed her around, watching and never talking. He talked when Lois asked him a question and sometimes when he had a question of his own, but for the most part, he was too busy observing.

It was wrong. A man was supposed to be sure of himself and his words.

Clark, though, fit right in. He’d hover around Jimmy, silent and passive, matching his energy. They’d communicate with hardly any words, neither pushing the other past their comfort zones.

For some reason, Lex found himself more forgiving of the behaviour when it came to Clark.

Lastly, he learned that Clark knew how to talk with his hands.

It was a day when Clark showed up clinging to Mr. Wayne’s hand, dressed for practice but frowning like he was marching towards punishment.

He stuck to Mr. Wayne side, skipping the beginning of practice. He just watched with distant eyes and slumped shoulders.

And Lex was worried! Clark was his _friend_. His happy, chatty, clumsy friend who always smiled and never missed football.

So, he marched off the field, stood bravely before them, and demanded, “Clark, why aren’t you coming to practice?”

Clark blinked at him, frowned a bit harder and then pressed his palm briefly against his mouth.

Which – _what?_

“But it isn’t raining. What’s the problem?” Lex asked, remembering the action.

Clark just slunk closer to Mr. Wayne. With one hand, he made a few short motions with his hand, but Lex didn't understand. 

Slightly panicked, Lex tensed up, regretting leaving practice to check on Clark. 

Suddenly, Mr. Wayne spoke up, "It's okay, Lex. Clark isn’t up to talking today. He’s just going to watch until he feels ready to join. I’m here with him. You don’t have to worry.”

"What was that with his hands?" 

"Well, Clark was using sign language. It's a way to talk when you can't use your voice. Clark was saying that he's okay and that you didn't need to worry."

There it was again. His curiosity surged and Lex didn’t fight it this time. He had to know.

“Why can't he talk?” he asked.

Mr. Wayne’s brows furrowed in that way adults did when they were needed a minute to think. He smoothed Clark’s hair, caring and fretful in a way Lex didn’t understand.

“Well, Lex, sometimes we all have days where it feels harder to do some things. When Clark has bad days, it’s harder for him to talk. We just need to be patient and give him some time. He’ll be okay soon and then he’ll be ready to play again,” Mr. Wayne explained.

Lex felt ruffled. Mr. Wayne was talking to him like he was a little kid who didn’t understand anything. But, Lex understood. Of course, he understood.

When his mother had died, he hadn't felt like doing anything at all for weeks. And even now, sometimes he’d remember her and he’d just want to go under the blankets and stay there all day. Just, sit on the bed and do nothing but miss her.

His father never let him have bad days. He’d send a maid and Lex would be forced to put on his uniform and go to school. A man had responsibilities, and hardships would not defeat a Luthor man.

Up until now, Lex hadn’t thought that Clark could have bad days too. But, Clark had said he was adopted. _Was Clark missing his mother too? His father? Did Clark have a whole family he’d lost?_

It didn’t really matter, Lex decided. Clark was having a bad day and Mr. Wayne was surprisingly okay with it.

All Lex ever wanted on his bad days was for someone to sit with him through it. If his own father wouldn’t allow it, then, at least, he could make sure Clark had it.

Lex shuffled uneasily, casting an unsure glace at Mr. Wayne before he moved to stand at Clark’s side. After a moment of hesitation, he placed his hand on Clark’s shoulder.

Clark leaned into the touch, still clutching Mr. Wayne’s hand tightly but accepting the comfort Lex was providing. Good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm really looking forward to the next chapter!! i'll have it out soon. in the meantime, leave comments and thanks for reading :)


	15. SCORE! - Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> based on feedback i’ve received, i’ve deaged the characters by two years. clark and lex are now ten years old. this doesn’t change the plot, but i hope it makes reading easier.

Lex looked over the card, critiquing in a way that could only be learned after years of training. His mother had been the one to teach him, letting him spray the gentle lavender spray onto the expensive cardstock. He’d watched, young and easily impressed by the easy curve of her calligraphy. He’d been awed by her vocabulary, trying the words out. Back then, he’d hardly managed to get the syllables to sound as cordial as she could.

The skill had gone neglected for a long time. He’d fallen out of practice and his lettering was a bit clumsy, not that he thought the recipient would notice.

He let the ink dry, blowing lightly. He’d saved the cleanest envelope with the sharpest corners. He slipped the card in, sealed the envelope, and sprayed the lavender scent once.

And, just for extra luck, he crossed his fingers and sent a prayer upwards.

* * *

The mail, when it came, was a special time of the week for Clark.

In the library, there was a comfy armchair pushed against the wall with the window. It was lined with a blanket that was always soft and recently washed. This was Alfred’s armchair and it was one of the most coveted locations in the Manor.

It was here that Bruce would settle after particularly difficult patrols, when his joints creaked, and his muscles refused to cooperate the way they did in his younger years.

It was here that Jason would rest when he stayed the night. The bedroom he’d once used was maintained by Alfred and sometimes, Jason would go inside for a bit. But for as long as Clark had been living at the Manor, he’d never once seen Jason actually sleep in the room.

It was here that Tim would sit and read. Only here would he take a break from reading through case files and mission reports. He’d read books of fun and fantasy – a treat he hardly ever allowed himself.

It was here that Dick had spent months with Damian, telling him of the Bruce that had been lost to them for almost a year. They still sat there now, whenever they needed to talk and listen.

It was here that Clark would squeeze in besides Alfred and watch the old man go through the week’s mail.

It was a safe place where nothing bad could touch them.

In Clark’s brain, the world was too fast and too slow all at once. The noises were too loud, and gravity was heavy on his shoulders. Sometimes, it felt like he was watching the world through a TV and someone kept messing with the playback speed – speeding up and slowing down on a whim. It was exhausting.

But, here, on Alfred’s armchair, Clark could leave the buzzing of the world behind and get lost in the sound of crisp paper unfolding and the smell of fresh ink and parchment.

Today, though, was extra special because there was a letter addressed to him.

“Would you like to open this one?” Alfred asked, already handing over the letter.

The envelope had a Luthor logo stamped onto it and was made of the expensive type of paper.

Already, his heart was racing with the special sort of excitement of trying something new. Clark had never before received a letter addressed to him.

Carefully, Clark tore at the seal.

* * *

The invitation hadn’t included Bruce's name, so Clark had danced restlessly outside his office while Bruce got Lionel Luthor on the phone.

Tim, who’d only stopped by for the afternoon to work on a case with Bruce, watched on with amusement. After having Damian as a baby brother, it was nice to have Clark around. He loved Damian, but their sibling relationship had been far from easy. With Clark, it was all jokes and pranks and brotherly advice.

Plus, he never had to fear that Clark would throw a knife at him.

“Calm down, kid,” Tim said when Clark tripped over his feet for the third time.

Clark was jittery, working away at his Tangle with his lips frowny and serious.

“I’m sorry, Timmy, but I really want to go! What if B says no?”

“He’s not going to say no, Clark,” Tim assured. “Lex is a good kid and these events are really secure.”

Tim himself wasn’t too fond of Luthor Corp, but Lex had nothing to do with that.

Clark still looked unsure, unease resting in every line of his body. He stayed that way, guarding Bruce's office anxiously until the man came out.

Bruce ruffled his hair, “Stop fretting, Clark. You can go.”

“Really?” Clark asked, bouncing on his toes.

Tim hid his smile as Bruce rolled his eyes at Clark’s disbelief.

“What? Did you think I’d say no?” Bruce teased, chuckling as Clark squeaked.

“No, no, of course not. Thank you, B! Oh, I can’t wait!” Clark said.

“There is one thing, though,” Bruce warned, tamping down Clark’s excitement. “I have a meeting that night that I’d prefer not to postpone. If you’re okay with it, Mr. Luthor has offered to let you stay the night. Of course, Alfred can come and pick you up at any time. It’s just a suggestion.”

Clark was silent for a few moments, blinking at Bruce with eyes as wide as saucers.

Then, he was leaping into the air, whooping, “My first sleepover!”

Over his overly enthusiastic reaction, Bruce met Tim’s gaze, humour dancing in his eyes. There was work to be done, but he was willing to take a moment to enjoy his kid’s happiness.

* * *

Clark squirmed under Bruce’s careful ministrations. His neck was craned uncomfortably where Bruce was fixing his tie and collar. Bruce hushed him, managing to gain a few more seconds of relative stillness before Clark hit his tolerance level.

“It’s good enough, B,” Clark whined, wiggling out of Bruce’ reach.

The Bruce hummed unhappily but accepted defeat.

“Alright, alright,” he said, moving to sit on the edge of Clark’s bed. “Did you finish packing your bag?”

Clark nodded, “Yes. I put in everything you said to.”

“And you remember Alfred’s number, right?” Bruce asked, only relenting when Clark recited it correctly.

“I’ve got it, B, I swear,” Clark said, coming to sit besides Bruce.

Bruce pulled Clark against him, hugging him tightly for a second, “Okay, kid. I hear you.”

Clark accepted the hug easily enough until he pulled away without warning.

“Um, B?” Clark asked suddenly, movements stopping as he crouched in on himself.

Immediately worried, Bruce set a gentle hand on Clark’s shoulder, bringing him closer to his side, “What’s up?”

Clark’s gaze flickered up, eyes full of doubt and anxiety. Bruce's stomach flipped.

Clark took a deep breath, shook his head, and said, “Never mind.”

When his smile didn’t return and the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease, Bruce asked, “Is something bothering you?”

Clark’s eyes became wide and spooked.

Bruce didn’t want Clark stewing in his fears any longer than necessary. So, he went out on a limb.

“Is this about the sleepover? Do you not want to stay over?”

Clark took a shuddering breath before shaking his head. “No. That’s not it.”

“Okay,” Bruce said.

Then, Clark asked, voice soft, “Last time, um. Do you remember when Lex came to our house?”

Bruce nodded. It was two weeks ago. Of course, he remembered.

“Yes. It was after football practice, right?”

“Yes. Well, something happened and it’s kind of confusing me.”

“Okay. Well, do you want to talk about it? You know you can ask me anything. I’ll do my best to answer,” Bruce said.

Clark met his gaze briefly before staring resolutely down at his knees, “Yes. I know. But what if I ask a bad question? I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

Clark was looking so genuinely distraught that Bruce felt his own heart squeezing in his chest.

“Clark,” Bruce said seriously, “I promise that it’s okay. Even if you hurt my feelings, I know you don’t mean to. Please tell me what’s bothering you.”

Clark took a deep breath, eyes critical as he looked at Bruce.

After a beat, he nodded and said, “Okay. Well, I was going to show him some of my games. But we passed in the hallway and Lex saw some of the family pictures. We talked about them and now I’m confused.”

Bruce felt out of his depth. There were only so many directions which could go in and none of them seemed particularly favourable to him. 

Still, he powered through and asked, “What’s confusing you?”

Clark looked away again, hands tucked under his legs, “Why can't you be our dad? Is it because we’re adopted? Because I want a dad, I think. And I think I want _you_ to be my dad. It’s confusing because I think I forgot that I didn’t have a dad. But Lex reminded me. And now I don’t know.”

Bruce blinked at him.

A dad?

Clark wanted a dad.

“B?” Clark asked, voice shaky.

“Come here,” Bruce opened his arms, collecting Clark in a tight hug when the boy leaned in.

He pulled Clark onto his lap and held him there for a bit. Clark was shaking, but after a while, he calmed down, cuddling into Bruce's chest.

“Are you ready for me to answer?” Bruce asked.

Clark nodded; face pressed against Bruce's shirt.

“Okay, well. You know you’re adopted.”

Another nod.

“And Dick, Jason, Tim and Cass.”

“Yes.”

“I adopted you because I wanted you all to be a part of my family. Do you feel like a part of the family, Clark?”

“Yes. But why does Damian get to call you Father and me and Dick and Jason and Tim and Cass can't.”

Bruce squeezed Clark tight. “Baby, you can call me anything you want. If you want to call me dad, I’m one hundred percent happy with that. Clark. You’re my son. No matter what you want to call me.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Dick called me B when he was little. I’m not sure why. Maybe it was easier for him than dad. Less confusing. But he was my son no matter what. That goes for all of you children. No matter what you call me. B, Bruce, Father, dad. Whatever you’re happy with.”

The next breath Clark took was short and shuddering and Bruce suddenly felt completely inadequate. He’d had years of practice, but he still couldn’t give a good, comforting, fatherly speech.

“I think I want to call you dad from now on,” Clark said suddenly, frowning like he’d already been shot down.

Bruce didn’t care much what Clark called him. The name ‘dad’ did make him feel warm and strong inside, but so did the way his children looked to him when they needed to. The way they treated him with reference and respect, never wavering in their trust that he’d be there for them, was more important in any one title they could give him.

Still, it didn’t hurt anyone for Clark to call him dad and Bruce liked it, so he made sure to offer up a smile.

“Of course, son.”

The bright smile Clark gave in return cast all of Bruce's dark feeling away and he gave his kid one last squeeze.

“Now, are you ready to have to best sleepover ever?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the final chapter of this arc is up next!
> 
> also, [here's the tumblr post where i posted the invitation](https://courageousboss.tumblr.com/post/622109419398938624/invitation-i-made-for-my-fic-sunrise-on-ao3)


	16. SCORE! - Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: child abuse and homophobic slurs

Lex was hiding away in the shadows of the corner at the entrance. His father had already made him list off his most recent accomplishments at school to the gross men he liked to chat with. They’d nodded and smiled condescendingly at him, teeth professionally whitened and glinting.

Tucked where no one could see him, he allowed himself to wallow a little. Not for the first time, he wondered how his like would have been if his father had been the one who’d died instead. He loved his father, faults and all, and he hated to imagine his death. Yet, Lex could help but yearn for his mother’s warm smile and gentle hands. Since she’d been gone, Lex had yet to find someone to love him like that again and he was starting to lose hope that he ever would.

A sudden rush of excited chatter broke out, pulling Lex’s attention. He looked up to see Clark standing small and shy under the cameras’ attention. Bruce Wayne stood protectively behind him, smiling pleasantly at the cameras even as his eyes warned them to keep their distance. 

Lex hurried to greet his guest, bowing politely before Clark, “I'm glad you could make it, Clark.”

Clark laughed, but not at him. Clark never laughed at him (or anyone really). Lex liked that about him.

“I wouldn't miss this for anything,” Clark said, bowing as well.

He was smiling all bright and happy, like Lex had already done something wonderful.

Mr. Wayne cleared a path through the bustle of the camera crew, cutting through them easily with his fierce face and strong shoulders. Lex watched in awe; one day, he’d be big and strong like Mr. Wayne and he’d never get stepped on again.

“It’s nice to see you again, Lex,” Mr. Wayne said once they’d found a quiet, empty space.

“It’s nice to see you too, sir. And I promise I’ll look out for Clark,” Lex said, face carefully serious as he reached to shake Mr. Wayne’s hand.

Mr. Wayne smiled, but only with his eyes.

The rest of his face stern as he returned the handshake and said, “Thank you, Lex.”

Lex couldn't help but preen under the attention. It was funny – Mr. Wayne treating him like a grownup. But he liked it.

He noticed Mr. Wayne holding a bag.

“What’s this?” He asked, reaching for it.

Mr. Wayne handed it over and Lex almost buckled under the weight. Almost!

“That’s my stuff for the sleepover,” Clark said excitedly, moving to take the bag. 

Lex moved back, standing taller, “I’ve got it.”

Clark shrugged and let him be. Clark moved back into Mr. Wayne’s space and was instantly swept up into caring fidgeting. Lex watched as Mr. Wayne fixed Clark’s collar and tucked a few stray locks of hair behind his ears. The curls were soon shaking free, but Mr. Wayne just passed his fingers gently though through them again.

“Bye, dad,” Clark said, voice soft. 

Mr. Wayne’s eyes were shining, “Goodbye, son. Have fun and remember to call Alfred before you go to sleep.”

The pair parted with a quick hug and Lex was left with Clark’s eager attention. 

“So, what now?” Clark asked, smile wide and dimpling.

And just like that, The Best Sleepover Ever had officially started.

* * *

Lex suggested that they put Clark’s bag in his bedroom and Clark followed Lex easily, not too fond of being in the crowded ballroom.

He didn't like the noisy people, especially the ones who thought they could touch him without asking. Bruce usually shooed them away, but he wasn’t here tonight, and Clark didn’t think that Lex would have much success.

Lex’s house was sharp and sleek, with fancy decor and clean, white walls everywhere. It was similar to how the labs at Watchtower were, except Clark was actually allowed to walk around here.

It was amazing and Clark wondered if Alfred would let him paint his room white. 

Probably not. He’d say that Clark wouldn't keep them clean – and he’d probably be right. 

“We’ll put your bag in my room and then we can play games,” Lex smiling.

Clark jumped, pulling his fingers off the wall and checking that he hadn’t stained them.

Proudly, Lex added, “I have the new Wii sports.”

Jason had played that with Clark the last time he’d been at his apartment and it had been amazing.

“Okay,” Clark said, quickening his steps and wincing when his shoes squeaked loudly.

Lex laughed and Clark cringed down into himself.

Then, Lex said, “My dad always waxes the floors when we have parties. All week it’s just been _squeak, squeak, squeak_. It’s like there’s a hamster loose in the house.”

And when Lex kept laughing, Clark realized that he hadn’t been laughing at him. Clark joined in his joke, purposefully scuffing his shoes on the floor to make Lex laugh some more.

As they started slowing down, Lex said, “Miss Pamela, one of the maids, you met her last time, said it would be fun to sleep in sleeping bags on the floor.”

He pushed a door open, revealing what Clark thought might be the coolest bedroom ever. 

Lex put the bag down on the bed, turning to find Clark gaping around, speechless with awe. 

“Do you like it?” Lex asked. 

He’d never had another kid in his room.

Clark nodded, still mute.

Lex's walls were covered in a detailed map of the stars, complete with accurate constellations. There was no spot uncovered and even the ceiling had been done. Clark himself was fascinated with outer space but he’d always thought that it was because he’d fallen from them as a kid.

Was it possible that Lex was an alien child too?

Clark studied the walls, zeroing in where the League guessed he’d come from. They’d only been able to narrow in on a general area and Lex’s map was very near as accurate as the League’s.

He touched the area, realizing that what was covering Lex’s walls were actually hundreds of little squares, neatly coloured and taped to the tall. Clark peeled an edge up, revealing the stark blankness of the white wall underneath. He pressed the tape back down, reversing his decision. He didn’t want a white room anymore. No. This. This was so much cooler.

“I did it myself,” Lex said, suddenly at Clark's side. 

Clark blinked at him, mesmerized, “That’s amazing, Lex.”

Lex stood at his side in silence for a bit. 

Then, “We have a telescope.”

Clark beamed, feeling near to vibrating with excitement. They'd gotten a telescope at the Manor a while ago, and there was a sophisticated one at the Watchtower, but Clark had never had the chance to share this particular passion before.

Wally had been eager to teach him, but the man was more interested in the science of the telescope then the stars they’d see through it. The kids atClark's school had never even mentioned being aware of the galaxy and the Milky Way.

Lex was the first and Clark felt that made his new friend even more special.

Lex was watching him, just as tense and excited, so Clark asked, “Can we go there instead? We can play games later.”

Lex nodded, grabbing his hand and dragging him through twisting, identical corridors of white.

* * *

Clark snuggled down into the sleeping bag, eyes heavy. He hadn't been this sleepy in a while. His belly was full and warm and he was comfortable.

Lex settled down in the other sleeping bag, so close that Clark could see him blinking even in the darkness. 

“Lex?” Clark asked.

“Hmm?” Lex’s voice was heavy with sleep.

“Thanks for inviting me. This was fun,” Clark said, pulling the blanket higher.

Lex made a sleepy sound, then, “I had fun too. Thanks for coming.”

Clark blinked at him, smile soft and feeling so happy he thought he could drift up and sleep amongst the clouds.

Lex smiled back, looking just as sleepy and just as happy.

The boys fell asleep easily, dreams full of stars and sweets and tennis and laughter and friendship. 

* * *

Lex jerked awake, swallowing a yelp of pain. There was something sharp digging into his arm. He wiggled away from the discomfort, fighting past the bleariness of his sleep. When his vision cleared and his wits returned, he traced the sharp stinging to a firm grip. He looked up, shuddering at the thunderous rage on his father’s face.

“D-Dad?” He scrambled up, tangled in the sleeping bag.

Clark was still asleep, properly buried under his blankets and pillows. With a sudden, desperate shame, Lex hoped he didn't wake.

“What the hell are you doing, Alexander _Luthor?_ ” His father was so mad he was spitting, shaking Lex around.

Lex was hardly awake, mind screaming for him to _get out!_ and his better sense reminding him that that was the least sensible reaction.

Lex couldn't break his father’s grip, so he let himself be jostled, so confused and afraid. He didn't understand what he’d done wrong, but his father wouldn't accept ignorance as an excuse.

Instead, he curled into himself, whimpering, “I’m sorry, I'm sorry, please. I'm sorry, dad.”

Lionel’s face was red, and Lex thought that he could hear the angry thoughts running through his mind. He was so furious, and Lex had no idea why.

“Come,” Lionel dragged Lex out of the room.

Lex tripped after him, tangled in his blankets.

Lex only had enough awareness to be grateful that they were further away from Clark. He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking of his friend and his soft words and his bright smile. Last night had been so great that this must be the universe restoring balance. His atonement.

“Lying on the ground like a dog,” Lionel spat, releasing Lex’s arm. 

He’d taken them to one of his offices – he one where he kept some fencing gear and equipment. Lex stood rooted in place, terrified to misstep.

Lionel crossed the room and stared him down like a bullfighter, “And cuddling. Like a fag. Are you a fag, son?”

Lex was nauseous. He didn't know what a fag was, but he could figure enough from the venom in his father’s voice. 

“N-No, sir,” his voice shook. “I’m not. I’m not.”

Lionel grinned wickedly, tossing Lex a fencing foil, and taking one for himself. He didn't bother with any protective vests or helmets.

He fixed a cold snare on his son’s small form, “Prove it, then. Show me you’re a man.”

Lex was shaking, grip slack on the hilt of the foil. He could hardly process what was going on. His ears were ringing, and his vision was blurry. He was so, so frightened. 

His father lunged at him.

Instinctively, Lex deflected, his foil clashing against his father’s with a harsh slap. He flinched, hands clapping over his ears at the sound.

Lionel laughed maniacally, pressing forward suddenly. His foil lashed against Lex’s ribs and the boy fell, crying in pain.

Lex scrubbed the tears spilling down his cheeks while his father taunted him. 

“A fag. You’re a fag, Alexander,” his father roared, raising the foil.

“I’m not, I’m not, I'm not,” Lex pleaded, cowering under his father. 

His tears wouldn't stop. He was ashamed and hurting. He wanted it to stop. But it wouldn't. Not until he could prove that he wasn't a fag, whatever that nasty word was. 

He struggled onto his knees and his father brought the sword down towards him, sparing none of his strength. Lex hunkered down, bracing for a blow that didn't come. 

“Ow!” A sudden, pained cry. 

Lex’s eyes shot open.

Clark.

Clark was there, shielding Lex with himself.

There was a huge, bloody gash on one of Clark’s eyebrows. He was crying, too, trembling and confused. Yet, he stood between Lex and his father. 

Clark growled, grabbing the blade of Lionel’s foil and yanking it away.

“You’re doing it wrong!” Clark screamed, desperate to be heard. 

Clark’s face was red and blotchy and his body was tense. His breathing was quick and his voice was shrilly like he’d been shouting for a long time.

Lex wondered how long he’d been here. Had he been trying to help? Why hadn't he noticed? 

And -- _Had Clark heard?_

Did Clark know that he was a fag?

“You're not supposed to hurt him!” Clark screamed. “You’re not supposed to hurt _me_!”

There were blood and tears dripping off Clark’s chin, running down his neck and soaking into his nightshirt. The cut must hurt, and Lionel was still there, just as angry and cold as always. And still, Clark refused to move out of his path. 

“Leave us alone!” Clark ordered, pointing at the doorway.

Lionel blinked, just as stunned as Lex was. 

Clark didn't seem to care that no one was allowed to give Lionel Luthor instructions. 

Like a thunder cloud, Clark stood his ground, rumbling.

He pointed at the door again and cried louder, “Get out! Leave us alone! Leave us alone!”

He stood, shaking and serious, screaming at Lionel until the man left. Once they were finally alone, safe now with Lionel gone, Clark dropped to his knees before his friend. 

So gentle his touch was barely a whisper, Clark laid his hands on Lex’s shoulders, “Are you okay?”

And Lex could only stare at him, blood gushing down his face and bravery strung through his being, in humbled awe. 

“Lex?” Clark asked, voice cracking. 

Lex shook his head, a tiny smile creeping up, “I’m okay. I’m okay.”

Lex laughed, incredulous, “I’m okay, Clark.”

He could stop laughing, still shaking. Clark laughed a bit too, but he looked more concerned and uncomfortable than anything. 

Finally, his laughter died down and Lex stood, pulling Clark against him. Clark went into his hug without fighting it, holding Lex tightly.

“I was so scared, Lex,” Clark admitted, his words buried into Lex’s shoulder as if Lex would ever fault him. 

“Me too,” Lex told him, squeezing him tighter. “Thanks for helping me.”

Clark pulled back, eyes sharp and bright, “I’d never let anything happen, Lex. Not if I can stop it.”

And Lex believed him. Because Clark, with his moments without words, his shyness, and his quirks, was stronger and braver and better than anyone Lex had met before. He was stronger than the maids, who slunk around the hallways, ignoring his cries. He was braver than the teachers, who never raised an alarm.

Clark was good and right, and he’d protect anyone. He’d protect Lex, even if it left him bleeding and in tears. 

Clark was the best friend Lex had ever had – the best person he’d ever known. And even now, scared and stuck living with his father until he was an adult, Lex knew he had a mission.

He’d protect Clark.

He’d make sure he stayed this good, true person.

He’d be the greatest best friend and Clark would be safe with him. 

Lex gently wiped some blood from above Clark’s eye and grimaced. 

“Let's get you cleaned up,” he said, finding the strength to quiet his trembles.

It was easy to march out of the office with Clark at his side. He didn't care what his father had to say or do. He only cared to hold Clark safely at his side.

Next time, he’d be the one to do the saving.


	17. SUPER! - Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: clark has episodes of high stress which might be described as panic attacks or disassociation

As a boy, Bruce had accepted that he’d be alone forever. He was dull and quiet, and he hadn’t liked making friends. He’d been sure that one day, even Alfred would move on and it would just be him, lonely in the empty halls his parents had left behind.

Then, he’d stumbled across another grieving boy. A boy who’d lost more than Bruce had and had still found it in himself to give some light to Bruce's life. Taking Dick in had been the most important decision he’d ever made.

Now, he could only remember the Bruce of his childhood with sadness. He wished he could go back, just to tell that little boy not to cry say much. One day, the Manor would be overflowing with love and laughter, and he’d never be lonely again.

“Um, Bruce,” Duke stuck his head through the doorway, eyebrows pinched together. “Damian’s stuck at the centre and he says we should eat without him.”

With the door open, Bruce could hear his children’s shrieking echoing around the house. His boys, it seemed, would never grow up.

“What are they doing?” Bruce asked as he stood, falling into step with Duke.

Duke was taller than him now, with a strong, confident set to his shoulders that had Bruce brimming with pride.

“Jason told Dick that he didn’t believe that he used to be an acrobat,” Duke said. “So now Dick is doing that weird twisty thing he does.”

Bruce shuddered, grinning when he saw Duke doing the same.

“It’s unnatural!” Duke cringed, though he was smiling as he caught Bruce's eye.

Every so often, Alfred would corral of the Wayne children into the Manor. They’d have dinner and drinks, and everyone would sleep over. It was crowded and rowdy, but Bruce wouldn’t have it any other way.

This year, they had the additional twist of Dick's recent amnesia. A gunshot to the head had taken his son’s memories, but it could have taken so much more. Bruce spent every other moment being grateful to still have Dick at his side.

Bruce and Duke rounded the corner to meet the sight of Dick in the centre of the living room; one leg was stretched flat in front of him with the other bent behind him. He’d folded back so that his head was touching his bent leg and was grinning wolfishly at Jason.

Jason was gagging, begging Alfred to call in an exorcist. Tim was hiding behind Alfred, sobbing crocodile tears and egging Jason on.

Bruce couldn’t honestly say that he was amused with their hooliganism and high jinks, but he could admit to loving every second that they were happy. Just weeks ago, Dick had been wondering around Blüdhaven, homeless and confused. Somehow, Bruce's other children had managed to get him settled in the Manor, calmed his fears, and ensured he was safe. Every day they surprised him, and Bruce would never stop being awed by their strength and goodness.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred said when he saw him, “Would you get everyone settled at the table? I must still fetch Master Clark.”

Bruce eyed the twisted up, pretzel form of his eldest and shot Alfred a sheepish smile, “I’ll get Clark.”

He nearly scurried out of the room, leaving Alfred to wrangle the others. He only felt a little guilty. 

It was easy to find Clark. Nowadays, he spent most of his time in his room with the windows drawn. There’d been a release of a videogame recently which Clark was now obsessed with. He’d race his homework down and then pop in his earbuds, lost in the game.

Bruce missed the little kid Clark had been not too long ago. The boy who’d come running down the hallway at daybreak, eager to spend all of his time with his father. Bruce knew that this was all part of growing up. It was healthy for Clark to find new interests, but Bruce just wanted time to slow down a little.

* * *

Clark jumped a bit when he heard the knocking on his door, but he called for the person to come in while he clicked out of his game. He glanced at the time—almost dinner.

“Time for dinner, kiddo,” Bruce said, waiting at the door.

Clark hated the surge of discomfort spreading up his chest. He really didn’t want to go to dinner. Not when the whole family was hanging about. He’d been feeling off-kilter recently. It was a horrible, severe anxiety that he couldn’t explain. It was like he’d been pulled off the floor, high into the clouds. Something was pinning him in place, but at any second, he’d go plummeting back down.

His dad was waiting patiently, though, leaning against the doorframe. Clark didn’t think Bruce noticed he’d been doing that more often. He didn’t like thinking of his father as old or tired, but he couldn’t deny the facts. There was grey creeping along his hairline, and he always seemed weighed down by some vast, invisible weight. The stress from Dick's recent injury had caused him to lose weight which only highlighted how haggard Bruce was.

Clark swallowed down his worries and sent his father a smile.

“Is Damian here?” he asked, joining at Bruce's side.

He was so caught up in telling his overly sensitive brain to  _ be quiet! _ that he didn’t register Bruce's hand reaching out until it landed in his hair. Instinctively, he shrunk away, back against the wall and willing his body to evaporate.

Bruce took a few steps back, eyes wide and worried. “Are you okay?”

As his breath started to come more regular, Clark’s cheeks heated with shame.

_ What had just happened? _

It was like he’d been in stasis with himself, stuck on a singular thought while eternity unfolded around him. He’d been so caught up in it that he’d forgotten that Bruce was even there until he’d tried to ruffle his hair. Then, the reminder had been so jarring that he’d immediately gone on to flight mode.

It seemed like the time between when he’d clicked out of his game and when Bruce had touched him had been hours. But it had hardly been a couple of minutes. It was disorienting and scary, and it had been happening more and more often.

He tried to put on a brave face, shrugging and saying, “I’m fine. I just don’t want to be touched right now.”

However, he could see the calculating look on his dad’s eyes.

Even as Bruce nodded and kept his distance, Clark knew that he wouldn’t let go of this so quickly.

He tried to switch up the tone, asking again about Damian. But Bruce's critical gaze was still fixed on him, making him feel pinned down and conspicuous.

“I’m going up to Watchtower later. Would you like to come?” Bruce asked.

Clark hadn’t been in a while—none of the Bats had. Dick's health and wellbeing had been monopolising their time, and Clark was still hesitant to leave him. It seemed that every time he turned around, a family was being struck, shot at or otherwise injured and Clark was exhausted.

Plus. What if Diana reached out and he flinched away? Already Clark could picture the hurt, shocked expression she’d have and he couldn’t bear to be the cause of that.

Worse, what if he zoned out again? He’d be called out for it, and the League wouldn’t ignore it like Bruce was.

“I don’t think so,” Clark said.

“Are you sure?” Bruce asked, eyebrows shooting up.

Understandably so—Clark couldn’t remember ever turning down an invitation to visit Watchtower.

“I don’t want to leave Dick yet,” he said honestly.

Bruce's expression smoothened with understanding. 

“Okay, kid. Let me know if you change your mind, okay?”

Clark nodded, reaching out on his own to grab Bruce's hand. The small bit of physical contact was easy to bear when he was the one initiating it. Bruce squeezed firmly, tugging him close to his side.

The tight ball of anxiety in his chest eased, and Clark focused on the relief. His dad was here. He’d be okay. 

* * *

Damian showed up as the plates were being set, cradling a small dog to his chest. He worked part-time at an animal rescue centre where they treated and rehabilitated abandoned pets. Once in a while, he’d bring home an animal with a gentle temperament. It was usually when they’d been confirmed to be adopted. He claimed that it helped the animal learn about environments outside of the centre, but Clark thought that it was just his long, drawn-out way of saying goodbye.

Dick was out of his chair immediately, tenderly reaching for the dog.

Damian let him hold it as he greeted Alfred and Bruce in the formal way he always did. By the time he’d finished and put his things way, Dick had set the dog down in the living room, and Bruce had put up the railings. The dog sat behind the barricade, watching them curiously as Alfred herded everyone back to their seats.

“Busy day?” Jason asked Damian, not unkindly but clearly laughing at Damian’s expense.

“Shut up,” Damian snapped, lacking any real anger.

Dick met Clark’s eyes and Clark delighted in the easy way his older brother smiled.

“Who is the little guy anyway?” Dick asked.

Clark watched the dog perk up as if he’d understood what they were saying and was happy for the attention.

“His name is Button. He’s about two years old now. He’s being adopted tomorrow, so I have to take him back to the centre,” Damian said.

Dick pouted, “What? So soon? We’ll hardly get to spend any time with him.”

“That’s the drill. Damian does this a lot,” Tim said, leaning closer to Dick. “He brings home animals from the centre sometimes, gets us all attached and then gives them away.”

“He’s waiting for us to crack one day,” Jason said, grinning mischievously. 

Damian let them jabber on, and Clark was content to sit and listen. He hadn’t realised how quiet and still it had been in his room until he’d been surrounded by the busyness and noise of his family.

Clark looked back at the dog, who’d laid down and was watching them with sleepy eyes. There was a tuft of fluffy fur hanging over the dog’s eyes which bobbed with every slow, languid blink. There was a certain peace to the animal that Clark envied.  _ What would it be like to be so content to just sprawl out on the soft carpet of the living room and be lulled to sleep by his family’s chatter?  _ To have no room for fear or panic because he was too small and filled up with joy and playfulness. To have someone like Damian, strong and gentle, take care of him and keep him safe.

Suddenly, Clark was shocked back to awareness with a large, heavy hand on his shoulder and a loud, booming voice in his ears.

“Give him some space,” someone was saying, though to Clark it sounded like their voice was filtered through water.

The image of the dog was gone, replaced with a fuzzed frame of cream and brown that Clark didn’t know how to process. He shook his head, but his vision didn’t clear. There were still the distorted, muffled voices around him. He was so disoriented that he couldn’t even figure out if he was still sitting at the table – or sitting at all.

Slowly, only as quickly as the thoughts of the dog slipped away, his awareness returned.

He could make out someone before him. It was Duke. He could tell, even if his mind was still fuzzy. He wasn’t in the dining room anymore, and there wasn’t any food around either. His hearing cleared too until he was just himself again. He was curled up on the floor the hallway with the wall pressed against his back and embarrassment flaming through him.

Duke’s attention was on him, shoulders tight with concern. For a moment, Clark couldn’t only feel grateful for Duke’s broad build, which effectively shielded him from anyone else who might be around.

“What happened?” Clark asked, swallowing the nausea rising in his throat.

He felt like he’d just been through a sudden episode of vertigo.

“I’m not sure, yet, buddy,” Duke said, voice soft and warm.

Clark wanted him to have the answers. Instead, Duke was looking at him, waiting for some sort of explanation.

Clark tried seeing over Duke’s shoulder. He didn’t know what he feared more: to have his entire family there staring at him or to have them all abandoning him in his stress.

“Hey, kid,” Duke said, leaning to let Clark see properly, “It’s just us. Everyone’s still home, but Bruce said that you might not want anyone crowding or touching you.”

Clark’s stomach flipped. He felt numb, overcome with too many things to process and unsure how to deal with them.

Mostly, he could only be aware that there was something well and truly wrong with him.

“Are you still with me?” Duke asked gently.

Clark swallowed, “Yes.”

“Do you know what just happened?” Duke asked him, but he wasn’t as critical or curious as Bruce had been earlier.

Duke as soft and gentle and safe. It came so naturally to him.

Clark tried to think back but he could only remember the dog and then a whirlwind of motion as he tried to catch up to what was happening. It was similar to what had happened with Bruce earlier (and how it had happed last night and yesterday and the day before). However, this time he’d been so exposed. He shuddered, embarrassed all over again.

“Do you want me to tell you what it seemed like from my end?” Duke asked.

Clark nodded shyly, shrinking into himself.

“Okay, sure. Let me know if you want me to stop or take a break, okay?”

He waited until Clark nodded again before he continued.

“We were having dinner. Damian had brought home a dog. The dog was in the living room, and you were looking at it. You kept looking at it even when Jason asked you a question. It seemed like you hadn’t heard him. We thought you were distracted, but you never reacted. Bruce said that this had happened earlier. I tried to touch you. I’m sorry. I was just trying to get your attention. You weren’t expecting it, and I think I scared you. You came out here in the hallway, and I’ve been here to make sure you were okay.”

Clark tried to reason out what Duke and his family had seen and what had happened in his head.

To him, it seemed like he’s disassociated. He’d never disassociated before, and he couldn’t think of something that had triggered it. 

He’d zoned out before when he was bored. Or, when he was younger and overstimulated, he’d block out everyone and ignore anyone who tried to talk to him until he felt less overwhelmed. But, those events were tiny and fleeting. He understood them, and he’d been aware of what was going on.

This, what was happening to him, was new and scary. It was like his mind had run far, far away and left his body behind.

“Are you okay?” Duke asked.

Clark shook his head, hands shaking.

No. He was not okay.

Something was wrong.

_ But what? _

_ What was happening to him? _

“Clark? Do you want a hug?” Duke asked.

Clark was already on the floor, and Duke was crouched in front of him. Instead of answering verbally, Clark surged forward, wrapping his arms around Duke in a hug. Duke pulled him onto his lap, burying his chin into Clark’s hair and anchoring him in place.

Clark could feel himself shaking, but he felt safe here in Duke’s embrace.

“I’ve got you. We’ll figure this out. I promise,” Duke said.

Clark closed his eyes, desperately hoping that Duke was right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not going to lie, i was a bit disappointed on how the finale of the last arc was received (i thought there'd be people screaming for lex's sake in the comments haha)
> 
> here's hoping this one is off to a better start! there's going to be more batfam content :)


	18. SUPER! - Chapter Two

It was 2 AM when Barbara contacted Bruce over the secure line. There’d been an explosion at the Gotham docks and a separate bomb alert on the other side of the city.

The boys had already gone to bed, so Alfred had the arduous job of waking each of them, apologising to their sleepy eyes.

Bruce himself went to rouse Clark, who’d fallen asleep on the couch in the main living room. He’d been hoping to sit with Clark and talk about what had happened during dinner, but the boy had been so exhausted that he’d fallen asleep on the ground with Duke. Duke had moved him to the couch, and Bruce hadn’t risked taking him further to his bedroom. Clark’s episode earlier had taken a lot of energy out of him, and Bruce wanted him to rest. That was why it was so difficult to shake him awake now.

“Clark, bud. Come on. You’ve got to wake up,” Bruce shook him gently.

Unfortunately, emergencies weren’t uncommon in the Manor. Clark had long been trained to wake quickly. He blinked himself to awareness, sitting up even as his eyes had dark shadows under them. He looked so tired and worn out that Bruce's heart ached just looking at him.

“What’s going on?” Clark mumbled, looking around.

“There’s a situation, and I’ve got to go out. I want you to go up to Watchtower until I get home.”

Bruce wasn’t expecting Clark’s eyes to turn frightened and spooked, but they did.

“What’s wrong?” Bruce asked, hand on Clark’s back.

Clark had lost all the colour from his face, and Bruce was only more confused.

“Did you tell them what happened?” Clark asked, voice small.

“What?” Bruce thought back, tripping over what Clark might be referring to.

Then, Clark’s eyes glossed with tears, and he whimpered, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. I swear!”

Bruce pulled Clark to his chest, holding him tightly. Clark was shaking in his arms, sniffling back his cries.

“I didn’t tell anyone, I promise. I’m not mad at you. I promise, Clark,” Bruce said. “I know you’re scared, but we’ll figure it out.”

Clark didn’t say anything, but slowly, he stopped shaking, which was really all that Bruce could ask. He held his son for as long as he could, only parting when Alfred came to check on them.

“I haven’t told anyone but if you want to talk to anyone at Watchtower, you can. No one’s going to mad,” Bruce told him before he left, wishing that he didn’t have to leave his kid when he so obviously needed him.

* * *

Clark shivered as he stepped out of the zeta tube into the base at Watchtower. It wasn’t cold, but it was the middle of the night, and his body wasn’t happy that he wasn’t sleeping.

He was tired in a way he could only remember from when he was a child, and his immune system was still building itself up. Back then, the flu would have knocked him over and leave in bed for days. Bitterly, Clark remembered how he’d been pampered back then – tucked in blankets and waited on like a king. Now, he was feeling just as strung out and exhausted, and his family had patted him on his head and shipped him off to be someone else’s problem.

Clark knew he was being overly critical and grouchy, but he was _tired!_

But duty calls, and it was shaping up to be a busy night in Gotham. Even his dad, who was spending more time in the Cave than on patrol nowadays, was going out. Since Alfred would be alone, he’d need his full attention on the monitors and comms.

So, Clark had been sent to the Watchtower. Bruce had seemed to think he was doing Clark a favour, getting him safe and out of the house, but Clark didn’t feel like being around the League right now.

His dad had promised that he hadn’t told anyone else about his ‘episode’, but that didn’t mean much in Clark’s books. All of the members of the Original League acted like pseudo-parents and with his recent absence, Clark knew they would hover. Hovering meant they would figure out that there was something wrong with him and Clark didn’t know how to deal with that.

In the way of the Bat, he much preferred to avoid any confrontation related to the problem and wait for it to all right itself.

“Kal,” Diana’s warm voice rang out, followed by her tall, broad form stepping out into the hallway.

It was weird, and Clark felt shy about the thought, but for a few seconds, he could only appreciate her regal beauty. Diana was like a lighthouse made of gold, tall and powerful and beautiful as she weathered the trials of her life.

She reached for a hug, which Clark happily shuffled into. He felt safe here, wrapped in her warm, strong muscles. She squeezed him tight, making up for all the hugs they’d missed recently.

“We’ve missed you,” she said when they stepped apart.

Her fingers reached out, waiting for Clark to move forward before she started fussing with his hair.

“I missed you too,” Clark said, eyes fluttering shut.

It was true. He hadn’t realised how wrong he’d felt inside being way from the League from so long. He supposed that was just it was with family – they were a part of him that he could never really leave.

With his eyes still closed, Clark leaned into Diana’s side, letting her hold his weight.

Diana chuckled softly, “You’re sleepy.”

Clark hummed in assent. He was exhausted. With her calming presence and her fingers massaging his head, he felt like a kitten being cuddled to sleep.

“Are you walking to bed? Or should I carry you?” Diana asked.

Clark was surprised at how jumbled his thoughts were. Whatever had happed earlier had zapped all of his energy, and he wanted to rest.

“I want to stay with you,” he said, throat tight.

He didn’t want to be alone. Not yet.

Diana frowned, cupping his face with her hands, “Are you okay, Kal?”

She ducked down to meet his height, brown eyes shining with concern. Clark just blinked at her, words floating behind a wall of fluffy sheep. He didn’t know how to explain the crash and whirl of his thoughts at dinner. 

“Kal?” Diana asked again, concern growing.

Clark lifted one hand to sign _sleepy_ and then waited for her to finish staring at him.

After a few beats, she nodded, taking his hand to lead him to the monitor room. Diana had mastered patience a long time ago, and Clark was grateful for the peace she was allowing him. 

Hal and Katar were at the screens, a podcast playing in the background. Diana had been sitting with them too because Clark noticed an empty chair with her special cushion on it.

Instead of taking Clark over to greet them, Diana let him to the lounge area, rearranging the couch pillows to more resemble a bed. Clark laid down, feeing a warm fuzz of sleep wash over him instantly. He was only awake for long enough to recognise Diana laying a blanket over him before he finally fell asleep again.

* * *

When Clark awoke, it was to Batman’s cowl near his face.

“B?” Clark mumbled, scrubbing his eyes.

He didn’t feel that bone-deep exhaustion anymore and the relief was almost exhilarating enough to make him fly.

“Morning, kiddo. Everyone’s getting breakfast. Do you want to eat?” Batman asked.

Clark nodded, shuffling off the couch. He smoothened the wrinkles from his shirt as best as possible and tried to tame his bedhead. Meanwhile, Batman fixed the couch pillows and folded the blanket.

Before Clark could leave to the pantry, Batman said, “Did you tell Diana what happened last night?”

“Um, no. I just fell asleep,” Clark said, chest tightening.

He looked around, too busy ensuring that they were alone to care about being discreet.

Batman sighed, the voice modulator echoing and roughening the sound.

“Clark,” Batman said, “I’ve been thinking. It’s probably best to tell someone with enhanced senses about what happened.”

“What? Why?”

“Signal used his retrocognition last night. He described to me what he saw.”

Clark swallowed, hands itching towards his thighs. He didn’t want to talk about this. He didn’t know _how_ to talk about this.

But Batman didn’t ask him to. Instead, Batman took a seat on the couch, leaving Clark standing taller than him.

“What Signal described seemed like you entered a state of enhanced speed centralised about your person,” Batman said.

Clark blinked, “What? Like, I was moving super fast?”

“Moving may not be the best word,” Batman said. “Your body remained stationary. However, I think your nervous system was processing in hyper speed.”

Clark sat down too, purposefully wedging himself against Batman’s side. The suit wasn’t the most comfortable material, but he wanted to be close to his dad.

Already, Clark felt like some huge weight had been lifted off him. Like there’d been a snake coiled around his chest, and it had now slithered away. These few sentences Batman had relayed to him were like magical words that brought peace and understanding and comfort. Signal had given him this gift, and he hadn’t even had to ask.

Maybe, talking about his problem wasn’t the worst thing he could do. Especially when he was talking to geniuses and prodigies.

“The Flash has described similar experiences to me,” Batman said, somehow managing to sound gentle even with the voice modulator hardening his words. “We have a sensory room set up for him that he uses—”

“It’s different. Flash has superspeed,” Clark said, though as the words left him, they burned into his thoughts.

_Superspeed._

Batman hummed, though it sounded like a low growl.

“You’re aware of your origins,” Batman said.

The League had never let him forget.

They’d filmed little Clark, who’d started telling stories about Krypton as soon as he’d figured out how to communicate. They’d kept every drawing he’d ever made of his first home and had pointed out the deserted planet they’d stashed his spaceship.

They’d even tried to build a dictionary and a practice AI, so he’d never forget his first language, Kryptonese. This was only partly successful since Clark was the only translator and he’d only been a few years old.

Still, Clark didn’t really _feel_ Alien. He had a human body (at least on the outside), and he had human thoughts, and he had a human family. 

But the truth of the matter that he wasn’t human. It wasn’t a bad thing – just the truth.

And, if this new development was tied to his biology, maybe it didn’t have to be scary.

Maybe it was just natural.

Maybe he’d spent his whole life growing to get here, and he’d finally met his full potential.

“Are you saying I have superpowers?” Clark asked, a smile creeping up.

Batman growled again, though Clark could see his smile.

“I’m saying that maybe you should talk to Flash. Explain what happened. Maybe he can help,” Batman said.

“Wouldn’t it be awesome if I had superspeed?” Clark grinned, hoping to rile Batman up.

He hadn’t felt his light and carefree since his first ‘episode’.

Batman grunted, hunching his shoulders grumpily.

Clark nudged his shoulder against Batman’s side, “Maybe I could be his sidekick. Think he’ll take me?”

Batman grabbed him, tickling him roughly.

Clark squealed, crying out in laughter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) duke has retrocognition which allows him to see a few minutes in the past (see [here](https://dc.fandom.com/wiki/Duke_Thomas_\(Prime_Earth\)) for more info)
> 
> 2) a sensory room is a room made to allow people having sensory troubles to centre themselves/ deal with sensory issues in a safe, comfortable space. [here](https://www.especialneeds.com/blog/sensory-rooms-explained/), it's described as "a playground but intended for taking a breather instead of burning off excess energy" which I think is a great description.
> 
> hope everyone had fun reading this chapter :)


	19. SUPER! - Chapter Three

The Original Watchtower pantry was cramped and tiny. Batman had built for a much smaller group of people and initially, it had served its purpose well. Back then, it had just been Batman, Wonder Woman, Flash, Aquaman, Green Lantern, and Kal-el, when they’d taken the child in. They’d fit easily there, a booster seat for their kid and drawings pinned with magnets to the fridge. Sharing a meal in the room, it had been easy to feel like a family.

Since the League had expanded, Batman had built up a bigger pantry. The newer members tended to gather there, but the original team had already claimed the first pantry as theirs. Clark preferred the Original pantry. It was homey and familiar, and there was only enough room for everyone to fit with their shoulders touching and their elbows clashing.

Clark set off in that direction, smiling when he heard the soft chatter in the distance.

Everyone turned when Clark entered, Batman at his back.

Nightwing’s wrist was in a brace and he was milking the injury, grinning as Flash raced around serving him. Robin and Red Robin were rifling through the fridge, both already snacking on protein bars. Wonder Woman was spreading some honey on her toast, sitting on the countertop with her legs pulled under her. Green Lantern was mixing his coffee, looking half-asleep.

“Kal!” They chorused, while Green Lantern only grunted.

“Good morning,” Clark said.

Batman huffed, taking a seat besides Green Lantern.

Clark went to sit with Wonder Woman, pouting when Batman shook his head in disapproval. Technically, they weren’t allowed to sit on the tables, but Batman usually let Wonder Woman do whatever she wanted. He looked hopefully towards Wonder Woman, but she shook her head too, as if saying _Batman’s the boss_.

As an apology, she gave Clark her toast, meeting Batman’s gaze as Clark took a seat beside Nightwing. The two most senior members of the League engaged in a silent conversation, excluding everyone else from their little bubble.

Nightwing jostled Clark a bit, ruffling his hair as he asked, “Did you get a good sleep?”

Clark nodded, ignoring the poorly hidden concern in his brother’s voice.

He bit into his toast. It was unsurprisingly delicious. The Watchtower was only ever stocked with the best of the best. Alfred said it was because Bruce liked to spoil the League, but Clark thought that Bruce was just too much of a snob to let them eat anything off-brand.

“This is good,” Clark told Wonder Woman, smiling.

“It does,” she nodded in agreement, cutting her conversation with Batman to an end as she reached to make another for herself.

Flash zipped around some more before finally coming to a stop, having amassed a huge pile of goodies to eat. Mostly, he was eating breakfast muffins with jam.

“So,” Flash said cheerily, munching away. “What’s the plan for today?”

Batman finally took a seat and Clark heard him wince as his back rested against the chair.

“Robin’s got classes,” Nightwing said. “And RR and I are going to sleep.”

Clark noticed that Red Robin was sipping camomile tea, hair fluffed, and shoulders slumped. He looked ready to crawl into bed and sleep, and Nightwing looked eager to do the same.

“Flash, you have a meeting with me in Rec Room 4 at 10 AM,” Batman said. “Wonder Woman, you have monitor duty tonight. GL, you’re off for the rest of the day.”

“Halleluiah!” Green Lantern cheered, pillowing his head on his arms, and closing his eyes.

Batman grunted in annoyance and Green Lantern opened his eyes to wink at Clark. Clark grinned at him, poking Batman with his foot under the table. Batman grunted again, shifting his chair back while Green Lantern sniggered.

Clark felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He wiped his sticky fingers clean and shifted around to get his phone free.

**LL:** hey

Hey

what's up???

**LL:** r u online ltr

ye

**LL:** we'll talk then

k

* * *

Flash skidded into the Rec Room five minutes late. His hair was ruffled, and his cheeks were pink. He was wearing casual clothes, though his shirt had the WE logo on the shoulder tag.

Clark, who’d been waiting patiently at Batman’s side, waved at him, “Hey!”

Flash beamed, “Hey, kiddo. Long time, no see.”

Batman rumbled impatiently, “You’re late.”

Flash shrugged sheepishly, “Sorry, Bats.”

“I’ve got another appointment. Clark will brief you,” Batman said, growl in full effect.

Batman looked properly annoyed, but Clark knew it was an act. They’d planned it out before Flash had arrived. He wanted to explain this to Flash alone so Batman had come up with a way to bully the speedster and get Clark what he wanted.

As Batman stomped out of the room, Clark hid his grin, letting it free when he saw how guilty Flash looked.

“Did you bring snacks?” Clark asked knowingly.

Flash blurred in place and then he was standing before Clark holding up a pair of pretzels. He offered one to Clark as he munched on his own, moving to sit on the table. Clark hopped up to sit beside him, swinging his feet as he ate.

Flash was quiet for a bit before asking, “So, what’s this meeting about? Did Bats get tired of you smiling so much? Sent you to live with me?”

Flash reached out to pinch Clark’s cheeks, bumping their shoulders together.

Clark blushed, eyes trained on his knees, “Um, no. Not really. I mean, well—”

Clark swallowed around the ball of nerves wedged in his throat, trying to free his words.

He’d known Flash for as long as he could remember, and he’d respected the man the entire time. Flash was brave and kind and smart and, well, fast. If Clark really did have superspeed, this would be something they’d have in common. The gravitas wasn’t lost on Clark.

“Well, what? Don’t leave me in suspense!” Flash whined impatiently, but his tone was playful and gentle.

Clark looked up into Flash’s eyes. He was wearing a domino mask, but Clark had seen him without it so many times that he felt like he could look past it. He could see Flash fidgeting a little, but he knew that if he asked, Flash would sit with him for hours, just waiting for him to talk. He’d done it before.

Clark took one last shuddering breath and offered Flash a smile, chest loosening when Flash smiled back.

“I think I have superspeed,” Clark confessed. “Like you. Or at least some kind of enhanced speed.”

He explained what had happened and how he’d felt and somehow, it was so easy to talk to Flash. Flash just nodded and agreed and say _yes, yes, I understand_. Flash always understood him.

When Clark finished talking, Flash stood and dusted his fingers off.

“Well, let’s see you do it then,” Flash prodded, motioning for Clark to come towards him.

Clark approached him unsurely, “What do you want me to do?”

“Run!” Flash declared, zooming forward a few feet.

“I don’t know how!” Clark complained, anxiety growing even as he punctuated his words with a laugh. 

Flash waved off his concerns, “Don’t think. Just run.”

Clark took a deep breath and took off running, putting one foot in front of the other as fast as he could. The Rec Room wasn’t the longest room ever, but he supposed it was enough space to test his abilities. He ran fast enough to feel the wind on his cheeks but as he skidded to a stop in front of the furthest wall, he was swimming in defeat.

“It didn’t work,” he said, shoulders slumped as he turned to Flash.

He’d done nothing special.

Inside, he just felt _wrong_. As if, once Batman had said the words, _superspeed_ had become part of his identity and it was now being ripped away.

However, Flash whooped, jumping into the air with the noise, “That was awesome!”

Clark’s eyebrows scrunched.

“Kid, that was like _woah_! How long have you been able to do that?”

“Do what?” Clark asked, wondering with dread if Flash was making fun of him.

He hadn’t done anything. He’d tried his best and his hardest and he hadn’t even broken a sweat.

Flash was still smiling but his eyes softened, “Clark you definitely have some sort of enhanced speed. It’s not the speedforce. I didn’t feel that. But you ran across the room before I could even blink. You’re amazing.”

“Really?”

Clark hadn’t done anything differently than he usually did, he’d just tried to run and apparently, he had.

“Really, kid. I wouldn’t lie to you, you know that,” Flash said earnestly.

Clark bit his lip, “Should I try again?”

“I have a better idea,” Flash said. “Let’s race.”

Clark was brimming with excitement, feeling lighter than a feather.

Flash took him to the Third Floor which was done up as a training room for physical activities and group bonding exercises. The centre of the room was sometimes used as a sparring floor, but most of the time, it was just a huge empty space.

Just walking there, Clark felt like he was skimming the air and he caught himself accidentally using his superspeed in short bursts. Flash just grinned at him, using his own speed to catch up whenever it happened.

As they stepped across the threshold, Flash took off, zipping off so quickly that Clark’s hair ruffled in the breeze. He took off behind him, breath going shallow was he watched the walls blur around him.

He didn’t have to put any effort in; he just told his legs to move and off they went. Flash lapped him, hollering good-naturedly and Clark pushed himself to go faster. He could feel the wind whipping his shirt.

There was a warm, fuzzy feeling bubbling in his chest, and Clark couldn’t remember ever having felt this alive.


	20. SUPER! - Chapter Four

Lex frowned at his phone, tutting impatiently. He swallowed the annoyance rising in his chest, reminding himself that this was Clark he was waiting on. Clark, who even at his best, was once of the most unreliable people he knew.

He’d asked before, once when Clark had come tumbling into some event all sheepish and harried and late. Mr. Wayne had been close behind him, looking just as bumbling and rumpled, but not nearly as guilty as Clark seemed.

Lex had been more curious than criticising, wondering what was so important and constant in Clark’s life that kept him so busy.

_What world-ending catastrophe could the Waynes possible be attending to? And why couldn’t they seem to ever fix the problem?_

Clark had stiffened, eyes wide and spooked, like a deer caught in headlights, gaping around uselessly for someone else to bail him out. When help didn’t come, Clark had started stammering over some silly excuse which Lex hadn’t had the patience for.

“You're a horrible liar,” Lex had cut him off, watching a deep, hue of embarrassed red crawl up Clark’s neck.

He was reminded, then, that it wasn’t really fair for him to press Clark. Not when Lex knew that his friend was incapable of holding firm in the face of scrutiny. Deceit was a practised art, and Lex liked knowing that Clark was honest.

So, he’d dismissed the questions, sentencing himself to being kept in the dark.

Now, years later, he was still wondering what it was that kept his friend so busy and elusive.

“Dammit, Clark,” Lex watched the minutes ticking away.

He wouldn't wait forever.

He didn't like waiting at all – only for Clark did he make an exception.

Lex sent off a few texts to Clark, asking after his whereabouts. He watched the first tick appear – message sent. The second tick didn't appear, which meant that Clark wasn't in range of Wi-Fi and had used up all of the data on his plan.

 _Great_.

Lex logged off the game, changing into his tracksuit instead. He kept up a strict exercise regimen and he wouldn’t let Clark be the reason he lapsed.

(No, not when Clark was why he’d started this in the first place.

Clark, who’d been foolish enough and brave enough to stand in the path of Lionel’s rage.

Clark, who’d needed two stitches and who’d flinched for months if anyone’s hand came from too high.

Clark, who Lex would never let his father harm ever again.

One day, his father would get his retribution. Lex would make sure of it.)

* * *

Once Clark had started running, he found that he didn’t ever want to stop.

His blood pumped easily though his veins, sure and strong as if they’d been stifled his whole life and had now been set free. His mind also seemed to work better. Most of the time, his thoughts were jumbled, splitting off into five or six different tangents. Now, though, with the wind in his hair and his muscles working, he could think more clearly. He could really _focus_.

He wondered briefly if he’d always been able to run like this. It wasn’t something he could turn on or off – it was just something he did.

_Had he always had superspeed and just hadn’t realized it?_

_Had he just never tried?_

Clark didn’t think he’d ever really be able to answer that question, but it had him thinking that maybe there was more he was able to do. More boundaries he could push. More abilities that he’d kept hidden from himself.

He ran with Flash until the man tired.

“Ready for a snack?” Flash asked, slowing to a jog.

Clark took stock of his own body, waiting for hunger or fatigue to hit him the way it hit Flash, but it never did. There seemed to be some untapped energy source within him. One he’d never be able to drain.

“Um, no,” Clark said, twitching in place.

He just couldn’t seem to make himself keep still.

Flash caught the movement and his eyes softened, “Alright, then. Why don’t you go down and explore? Stretch your legs for real. I’ll tell Batman.”

Clark didn’t hesitate. He took the zeta tube back down to Earth and just kept running.

At first, he stuck to Gotham city, but he eventually grew bored of that and just picked a direction and took off. Depending on how he focused, his vision would either blur to a single, distant point or he’d see in slow-motion, watching every slow blink and ever wing’s flutter. The world, like this, was detailed and beautiful in a way Clark had never been able to appreciate before.

He ended up in the heart of Metropolis as the sun was setting, and stopped to watch the city’s nightlife come alive.

Metropolis was different than Gotham.

Gotham shut down at night, civilians scurrying into their homes, businesses locking up tight, and security guards barricading themselves in their booths. The Bats did their best to keep the more nefarious of the baddies off the streets, but they’d never be able to guard every long shadow or alley.

In Metropolis, as night fell, the clock kept ticking. As the day workers headed home to rest, young people and partiers came out, heading to street stalls and night clubs. The city was like a pulsing heart, ebbing and flowing in sync.

Suddenly, Clark’s phone buzzed. He winced, expecting it to be Alfred sending a worried message. He didn’t have a specific curfew, but he’d normally have been home hours ago.

His guilt grew exponentially when he saw that the message was actually from Lex.

 **LL:** I’m online now

Five minutes later, there was another message.

 **LL:** Clark?

Thirty minutes later, Lex had sent a final series of messages.

 **LL:** are you okay?

 **LL:** why aren’t you on?

 **LL:** message me when you’re online

That had been two hours ago.

Clark had completely forgotten about Lex. He’d gotten so caught up in himself.

Clark wasn’t stupid – even if some people liked to think that was a convenient enough way to explain away his sensory overloads or his occasional mutism. He knew that his life, the life of his family, left Lex with a lot of unanswered questions. There were always plans being cancelled, random League members showing up, and one of his siblings having some unexplained skill.

It wasn’t fair to expect Lex to turn a blind eye, and yet he did.

And this was how Clark repaid him.

He imagined Lex sitting at the computer, watching the minutes drag by. Alone in that big house of his with no brothers or sisters, and with his friend gone AWOL.

Feeling like the worst friend in the word, Clark reread the messages one last time. He knew better than to reply now, though. Lex kept a strict schedule and he wouldn’t appreciate Clark interrupting him. Clark set an alarm reminding himself to message Lex the next day.

His mood had been successfully killed. He shrunk away from a boisterous group of teens, hanging off each other, and laughing themselves to tears. He eyed them with jealousy, imagining himself older and tucked among them, Lex at his side.

One day, maybe. Today, he was just Clark Wayne. With one friendship he could hardly maintain.

Clark set off back home, skidding to a stop in the driveway. He spotted a lean, male figure sitting on the lip of the roof.

Concern spiked through him.

It had been usual to find Dick hanging out on the roof, once. Usually, he’d take Damian up with him, and they'd do whatever they did together in their quiet time.

Since his injury, there’d been a new usual. Bruce didn't make rules per se, and even if he did, Dick was old enough now to not have to follow them. However, Clark liked to think that they’d all reached an unspoken consensus that Dick shouldn't be unsupervised at high heights. The danger that he could fall and hit his head was very real and wasn't what Clark considered a necessary risk.

Yet, there was Dick, perched at the edge of the roof with his legs swinging.

Clark used his superspeed to scale the manor, delighted to find that it worked on all of his limbs, not just his legs. 

Dick was grinning when Clark reached the top.

“That's awesome, Clark,” he said, voice light with awe.

Clark blushed in spite of himself.

“What are you doing up here?” He asked, wishing that Dick would back away from the edge.

Dick could obviously sense the panic in his voice because his smile softened.

He jerked a shoulder to the side, “I'm not alone, don't worry.”

Cass materialized out of the shadows, pointing at herself and signing _keep safe_.

“Cass!” Clark cheered, chest tightening.

Dick smiled, eyes scrunching.

“She heard about your new powers,” Dick said.

 _Very cool_ , Cass signed, making Clark shrug shyly.

“It's nothing Flash can't do,” he said, feeling like he couldn't bask in their praise.

 _They_ were the impressive ones, all of their abilities born from hard work and effort. Clark’s speed was something innate, something he hadn't had to work for.

Cass patted his shoulder, leaving her hand there. She still treated him like a little kid; like he was still four years old, and she was the only one who could understand his complicated vocabulary of English, Kryptonese and Signed English. He leaned into the contact, grateful for her grounding presence.

She poked a finger against his chest, signing more sharply this time, _very cool_.

Dick was still smiling that soft, proud smile and Clark felt his blush rising again.

Cass squeezed his shoulder, getting his attention and signing, _Let's go inside. Hungry?_

Clark nodded, eyes flitting back to watch closely as Dick stood and climbed down. He was still strong and graceful, but accidents happen. Not even Dick was infallible.

Flanked by his brother and sister, Clark went inside, startling as the lights flickered on and a chorus of, “SURPRISE!!!” rang out.

His family was there, Bruce, Jason, Tim, Duke and Alfred standing below a banner that had once said _Welcome Home_. Someone had added in, _Super-Clark_ to the end in marker.

There was a cake and food set out, and everyone wearing the brightest smiles.

Clark felt an explosion of warmth and love wash over him. Today was shaping up to be the best he’d had in a long time. 

Then, Dick was stepping in front of him, crouching to meet his height. Gently, his hands rested on Clark's cheeks, sweeping away the wetness under his eyes.

“Feeling emotional?” He asked, voice soft with solidarity and understanding.

Clark nodding, scrubbing at his own cheeks, his hands bumping against Dick’s fingers.

He looked up at his family – his wonderful, beautiful family who never let him forget how overwhelmingly loved he was.

“This is great, guys,” he said, punctuating his words with a sniffle.

Bruce stepped first, tugging Dick up and wrapping both him and Clark in a hug, squeezing tight. Alfred joined too, his hand resting on Clark's head. Tim came in on the side, followed by Cass, who tugged Jason and Damian with her. Duke laughed, loud and warm, before joining the hug too.

Clark closed his eyes, feeling his heart racing away in his chest, so full of love and thanks. He let himself be wrapped in the arms of the people who loved him and took this quiet moment to enjoy it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos, comment, bookmark, subscribe!! thanks to anyone who's supported this story so far and i'm so excited to keep on telling it


	21. SUPER! - Chapter Five

Alfred answered the doorbell just after 9 AM, greeting their visitor with due surprise, “Mister Lex. It’s a pleasure. Please, come in.”

“Mister Pennyworth,” Lex nodded respectfully, dressed to the nines with a neat, clean satchel on his arm.

Lex appreciated the niceties and manners—but only because Alfred Pennyworth was the speaker. The Wayne butler was a good, noble, man, and Lex felt honoured to receive his respect.

“I wasn’t aware that Clark was expecting you,” Alfred said, helping Lex hang his coat.

Lex shook his head, disappointment too severe for his age settling on his brow. “No, he isn’t. I’m hoping this surprise visit will teach him to be more respectful of my time.”

Alfred couldn’t help himself as his eyebrows shot up, breaking his stoic mask.

Lex caught his expression, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“So, has Clark been tardy then?” Alfred asked, in on the joke now.

Lex grinned, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially, much like some rude gossips of high society were wont to do.

“We made plans to speak yesterday, and he never followed through. I waited like a fool,” Lex said, rolling his eyes a bit.

In his fancy, pressed clothes, he sent a withering glare towards the doorway, as though he couldn’t bottle up his annoyance any longer.

Alfred didn’t try muting his laughter, and Lex preened at the sound.

Once he’d composed himself, Alfred said, “I’m sorry, young sir. I’m afraid that I may be to blame. You see, I had Clark’s brothers and sisters over yesterday. He was occupied and he wouldn’t have had time to keep his arrangement with you.”

Lex feigned outrage, huffing and muttering to himself under his breath. His impression was very good, and Alfred was only sorry that he was the only one around to see it.

Finally, Lex deflated, eying Alfred as he said, “Well if that’s true, then I guess I can't be mad at Clark. It’s not his fault that he’s got no manners.”

And how many times had Alfred heard that over the years? Lex was just pretending, but Alfred had faced off against people who’d thought that children really _should_ follow the arbitrary rules of etiquette followed by the rich.

Lex broke into laughter of his own, then, amused with his performance. Alfred watched him laugh for a bit, careful not to disturb. After all, every joyful moment they could afford the Luthor child was one that should be treasured.

“Well then, should I fetch the young Master Clark?” Alfred asked when Lex quieted.

“Yes, please. I’ll be in the living room,” Lex relaxed and calm in a way he never managed anywhere else besides the Wayne Manor. 

* * *

“Lex,” Clark stood in the doorway, eyes wide and surprised, “You’re here?”

Lex nodded, maybe a bit too amused at the shock on his friend’s face.

“I would have called, but I wasn’t sure you remembered how to use your phone,” he teased.

Clark’s face crumpled, which hadn’t been Lex’s goal. His stomach rolled as Clark started spouting apologies.

“I’m _so_ sorry, Lex,” Clark said, voice full of regret. “I got distracted—”

“Hey, I was joking,” Lex cut in.

Sometimes, with Clark, his jokes didn’t land. He had to be extra mindful of Clark’s reactions because Clark often tried to hide his confusion or discomfort. Lex didn’t mind making the effort; Clark was his friend, and friends looked out for each other. 

Besides, when Clark _did_ get his jokes, he always laughed the most.

Lex offered his friend a smile, waiting until the tension fell from Clark’s shoulders.

Clark’s cheeks remained heated, “Well, I wasn’t joking. I really am sorry, Lex.”

Lex took a seat on the couch, wiggling down until he was comfortable, “Well, come sit, then. I’ve got stuff to tell you.”

Clark was at his side quickly, so quickly in fact, that Lex blinked to confirm that his eyes were still working properly.

“Jeez, Clark. Don’t get too excited,” Lex laughed.

The red in Clark’s cheeks only darkened, “Oops.”

“Anyway,” Lex waves his friend’s awkwardness away. “Remember the placement exam we had to take?”

Clark nodded. He’d started off in public school, but when he’d started overperforming, the teachers had recommended the advances classes at the Gotham private school. Clark had jumped at the change to be in the same classes with Lex, finally having a friend at school. 

Gotham’s private school was somewhat prestigious and had exchange programs with other elite schools. Clark didn’t care much for the placement exams. He wasn’t obligated to move schools and the tests were hardly challenging. 

It seemed, though, that Lex might have a different opinion. 

“My dad got a call from the school. I’ve qualified to take the next round. If I pass, I’ll get to transfer to Excelsior Academy,” Lex said.

Clark frowned. Excelsior? “Isn’t that a boarding school?”

Lex’s eyebrows pinched, “Well, yes. That’s kind of the point isn’t it?”

Lex felt like he could already taste the freedom he’d have, far away from his father.

“Did Mr Wayne get a call too?” Lex asked.

Clark was still frowning, palms flat against his knees. “I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

Lex leaned closer to his friend, concerned. “Hey, Clark? Are you okay?”

Clark blinked, mind whirring. He’d thought—he’d thought that it’d be him and Lex. Best friends forever.

Not, Lex at Excelsior, Clark forgotten.

It was selfish, he knew. Lex’s father was horrible. He was mean and wicked and _violent_. Clark had always wanted Lex to get as far away from him as he could. He just hadn’t thought that it would mean he’d get left behind.

“Clark?” Lex asked again, voice softer. “Are you hearing me?”

“Mm?” Clark blinked rapidly, forcing himself to focus. “Oh, yes. I’m listening. I’m, uh, I’m happy, Lex. I know you’re going to ace the test.”

“You mean _we’re_ going to ace the test. I’m not leaving you, Clark,” Lex said, earnest. “You’re my best friend.”

Clark was his _only_ friend, but Lex wouldn’t trade Clark’s friendship for anything.

Clark smiled, something tiny and muted, “You’re my best friend, too. But I don’t want to go to Excelsior. Plus, we don’t even know that I passed the first test.”

Lex rolled his eyes, “Of course you passed. You’ve got like, a super-computer for a brain.”

Clark ducked his head shyly.

Then, hesitantly, Clark asked, “And, if I don’t go? If I choose to stay, what are you going to do?”

“I’ll stay too,” Lex swore, voice firm. “I’m not going alone, Clark.

Lex remembered how Clark had been, all those years ago. 

After Clark had been struck by his father, Lex had lost a piece of his friend for a while. He’d flinched if someone’s hand came at him from too high, and he’d called Lex every night, frightened that Lex was all alone with his father.

Clark had been _scared_. Scared for himself, and for Lex.

His father had never tried to harm him again, but Lex knew that Clark wouldn’t hesitate to shield him again if he did. Clark was brave and kind and good. And—Clark was all of these things to Lex.

Lex had never had anyone care about him so much. He wouldn’t dare leave a friend as true as Clark, even if it meant remaining in his father’s house.

Meanwhile, Clark was also thinking back to that time.

After Lionel Luthor had hurt him, Bruce had made a rule that Clark was never to return to the Luthor Mansion.

Bruce had made a public cry about the entire ordeal, in an attempt to get some of the workers in the Mansion to speak up. He’d hoped that their testimonies would get Lex removed from the home and placed somewhere more suited to care for a child. However, the workers had stayed silent, and Lionel had claimed that it had all been a misunderstanding.

The public had moved on, uncaring of the child left under Lionel’s care.

Bruce had taken Lex aside and clearly explained the unfairness of the situation.

“It’s not right,” he’d said. “Your father should not speak to you like that. He’s not supposed to make you feel hurt and afraid.”

Lex hadn’t cared much for himself at the time, only asking after Clark’s wellbeing. He always cared about Clark. 

It wasn’t fair. 

Lex had already sacrificed so much for Clark. Clark wouldn’t ask him to sacrifice this too.

Gathering his bravery, Clark looked at his friend. He could see the honesty of Lex’s words on his face. He’d been serious, Clark knew, he really would give up this dream just to stay with him.

“I’m not saying yes,” Clark said. “Not yet. _But_ if I passed the first test. I’ll do my best for the second one too.”

“And if you pass? You’ll go?” Lex asked, wonder creeping into his words.

Clark could see the excitement whirring through his friend’s mind, and he knew he’d made the right decision.

“I don’t know yet. Let’s decide that later. Is that okay?”

Lex nodded, shooting off into a detailed study schedule, nearly bouncing around.

Clark settled back, only half listening. In the back of his mind, he was daydreaming of racing down the highway, imagining the breeze against his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i've noticed engagement has fallen a bit. i'm still going to update regularly, but maybe a bit slower. (just because it's harder to keep posting without much feedback-- i'll still be writing and this story will be continued)
> 
> thanks again everyone who'd commented, kudos-ed, bookmarked and subscribed so far!

**Author's Note:**

> ##### Age Reference  
> 
> 
> Name | CRASH! | SCORE! | SUPER!  
> ---|---|---|---  
> Clark | 4 | 10 | 13  
> Damian | 13 | 17 | 20  
> Cass | 16 | 21 | 24  
> Tim | 17 | 22 | 25  
> Duke | 18 | 23 | 26  
> Jason | 20 | 25 | 28  
> Dick | 22 | 27 | 30  
> |  |   
> Jimmy | 3 | 9 | 12  
> Lex | 4 | 10 | 13  
> Lois | 5 | 11 | 14  
>   
> \--  
> disclaimer: i do not consent to my work being hosted on any unofficial apps, particularly ones with ad revenue and subscription services


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